I've seen my share of boys who think they're men Doesn't seem anything has changed They come here stinking of beer and cologne Shiny boots, Bible names But this one he was different he was softer somehow Quaking like a moth for the moon Swaying bare-chested in the summer night Something deep coming loose I guess I wanted just to touch someone But my hands are made of stone I wanted him to see the shape of me But my skin is made of chrome I know it's awful but I'm grateful to him For making me feel like i was strong For seeing stripes on my face Not the shadow of a cage You and me, Ian Wild and free