Difference That Destroys

I can't wait to see the way her eyes get big-deep-blue-sad
When all my other girlfriends tell her all the fun we had
(Though if they tell the truth, it's only half that bad.)
Poor little Martha Mark can't tell my truth from lying.
(I haven't played her dirty yet, though not for lack of trying.)

You have to understand that I'm a lovesick little boy
(Who cannot create enough to slake his urges to destroy,
Or see a holy icon as more than just a fancy toy.)
The difference that destroys us is, in essence,
That I am inexperience, and you are innocence.