There is a twin to sacred love
whose power no one is above.
And yet, we call her crass and base,
but never say we these things to her face.
Instead we wait til we can give the slip,
and only then do we start with lip
at least that of a spoken type.
For we are like slaves who start to gripe
when master's ear is out of sight.
But still we do nothing to add our plight.
For deep inside we know we must
always give in to the passion of lust.
So though we go to church a day a week,
the other six it's her we seek.
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