Some, Some, Some

The feminine boredoms can be a problem
And give you the sweetest death of all,
A gentle demon to fool around
Fineries, the sense of riding a wild horse.
But they will remain boredoms.

How many women are seen like that?
Like big wounds too lazy to start healing,
Bleeding thick clots of dying passions,
Feeding their loveless hearts,
While killing time, killing some-men.