Sickness

I'm a whore,
like I'm feeling,
sorry for myself.
In your arms,
I'm drawning,
like the child I was!
I need more,
can you help me?
Feed my sin,
come and kill me!
It's calling, calling, calling, calling me!
Endless skies,
falling freely,
down up on my head.
So much for,
hopless dreaming,
frustration settles in!
I need more,
can you help me?
Feed my sin,
come and kill me!
It's calling, calling, calling, calling
me-e-e-e-e!