disease number 3
Bite my lips until they bleed;
You're a fucking sick disease.
And I may cry before you wake
'Cause you might be my worst mistake.

But touch me and I'll come undone,
So in the end I think you've won.
But Heaven, dear, was never there.
And Hell? It could be anywhere...

So take me up into your arms
And burn me with your violent charm.
I'll be your sin, I'll be your dream;
I'll be the thought left inbetween.