There is an old man howling in my chest
A man decrepit in demeanor and morals alike
He's starving for unholy tricks of youth
The youth he never had the chance to visit
Caged as he was in his Catholic living-room
This man sees nubiles carrying both genders each
Women and men converted to androgyny
By the perversion of his appetites
Which is not yet to say that he's to fear
Few voyeurs lacking spirit in their phalli
Are so polite and clumsy while they're feeling
There is an old man crying
In the chest of a howling old man
And vice versa
Each taking turns in fathering the other
Both squandering the wets of lust and mourning
While watching love entangle others
Whose skins feel savagely eternal
There is an old men in my chest
Who just won't get through the rehearsals
And die for good.