| I love a man, whose love is violence;
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| Who always comes, who goes away.
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| Who never brings me any flowers
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| To blossom in my blazing shade.
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| And all of his weak-heart love is lonely; |
| our love is running out of breath.
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| When I wake, you cannot know me;
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| When I sleep, I dream of death.
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| Wire, Cradle, Cross and Arrow;
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| Mother’s milk or Crone’s Rage.
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| Mouths like Wolves, we dine like Sparrows;
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| There is grace in great restraint.
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| And all of his weak-heart love is lonely; |
| our love is running out of breath
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| When I wake, you cannot know me;
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| When I sleep, I dream of death.
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| And I could not help but leave and wonder,
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| What spirit steals your awful head.
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| and I am grateful for your candor;
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| I could not love a better man.
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| 'Cause all of his weak-heart love is lonely; |
| our love is running out of breath
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| When I wake, you cannot know me;
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| When I sleep, I dream of death." |