The Last Touch

You be my love for you come from my roots You hate my black overall and black rubber boots You adore brutes Who wear white socks and black suits Why should I trap a suit when I sweat in a mortuary? I only write of corpse in my diary Some hairy, Some scary, Some skinny And some stinky, Flee you may from my handshake. Run you may from my pat on your back Needless to say it is a fact I will give you the last touch. After your mother has given you That loving touch on your cheeks After your father has given you That soothing touch with his fingertips After your t(b)oyfriend has given you That sensational touch from dusk until six I will give you the last touch. I am a friend of the undertaker, One who understands the job of a soul taker You will face the barrel in a robbery You will rest in my busy room, the mortuary And I will give you the last touch. Gently my palms will race past All your curves from the hair to the nail Softly my fingers will explore the Broad petal And the stiff finger Of your long-preserved virginity. So why wait for the last touch When the touch that will touch you last Is the touch, That can now give you a better touch. I was drowned in your ocean of love Now I am floating like a body unfound Listening to the passionate sound Of your voice so loud Heating my thoughts like in Hell I am bound.