Touch Me I'm Sick

You call a cab, I walk you home,
nobody wants to be alone,
nobody wants to face the sun
with nobody and nothing done.
I hold you tight, you hold me light,
just two rag dolls against the night.
The razor’s sharp, the razor’s slick:
touch me, touch me, touch me, I’m sick.

The razor’s sharp, the razor bites
deep into long and lonely nights,
deep into what the hearts desire
of love and sex and blood and fire.
Lick me, suck me, bite me, fuck me,
play me slowly, play me quick:
Touch me, touch me, touch me, I’m sick.

You come, I come, the passion’s done.
I come, you come, the passion’s fun.
You cry, I cry, the passion’s dry.
I cry, you cry, the passion’s high.
The passion is what makes us tick:
Please, please, please, please love me, I’m sick.

Russell J Turner - February 2007

'Touch me I'm Sick' - The Workshop, Norwich, Feb 2009