When I’m feelin’ sad, self-loathing,
There’s a service you can render:
Rend me, or at least my clothing;
Be anything but warm, tender.

Gall me, get my shirt frayed, you can gall me,
Don’t hesitate—go on, gall me,
Tell me that I’m a foul hound.

Let loose streams of epithets blue,
Such as, “You are a stinking slough!”
Don’t be thinking, “I won’t hurt you.”
Do on me, if you want, kung fu.

Maul me, don’t be afraid, you can maul me,
Don’t hesitate—go on, maul me,
Belt me and call me a hound.

Go on and wet me—waterboard-fête me—
Go full-Cheney; don’t eschew,
Go on and truss me; my Trump’s plump—muss me.
There’s so much that you can do
(As you’re rumpling my ’do).

Haul me, don’t be afraid, you can haul me
On that racked grate—go on, maul me,
Belt me for holding me down.

Bliss: enthrall me with a thumbscrew,
Keep me in a leather tether.
What I love’s for you to give to
Me what makes my hide sore ever.

Gall me, don’t be afraid, you can gall me,
Don’t hesitate—go on, gall me,
Gall me by putting me down.