You spoke your verse, sotto voce,

My knees, they became so weak,

You chose me for your final dance,

I could not get myself to speak.

It felt so comfortable in your arms,

As we swayed from side to side,

Yet it was uncomfortable the way I felt,

Sick, hurt, nauseated inside.

I want you... cry for you,

Remember things I've heard from you...

An excuse of this, I'd been held,

By two arms, so tenderly before,

And left to tend to my broken heart,

As if glass dropped onto the floor.

I am a prisoner of your tainted smile,

A prisoner of your hurtful eyes,

Yet I'm a masochist for your love,

No matter how you dress your disguise.

I search for you... long for you,

Cry myself to sleep and dream of you...

Your touch is like sandpaper,

Your kiss causes pain within,

Your saliva - so sweet - like acid burning,

Your nails dig into my unworthy skin.

Sotto voce, sotto voce,

Your voice has always been,

The low words you spoke, "I love you", so sweetly...

Demands your cruelty, explains your sin.