My son, alas!, this transgression!
Thy sordid shameless confession!
How could I know how you've played the game,
How filled with lust you are and without shame!
Into her breasts you sunk yourself so fast,
And thought yourself as somehow blessed at last.
Alas, if I had known but earlier,
Why then my son, they would have found my furs,
About the floor, our bodies close, undressed,
Aswim in lustful sweat, escaping rest,
And every spot we'd try and try again,
All that matters truly's that we'd then...
Be longer at our loving, anal fun,
Until your father comes, for then we'll run,
Alas, how silly that would be: a wife,
Who runs so from her husband for her life.