M. Dreamer
Passion-love...
I fall, down the stairs, or not at all?
Hate to love, love to hate.
Ideal the idea.
Are you my Monsieur Butterfly or am I yours?
Deconstruct my heart on your irrediscent window plane,
what do you see? What do you see!
Selfish sacrifice or Sacrifictal lust, all to create and destroy!
To cry would be a weak escape.
Place the lipstick on my lips,
here my hands do barely touch.
My modesty undresses me, look at me, don't look at me.
You Never loved me, you Always loved me...
So fully do you burn in my heart, so fithly you burn in my soul
so disgustingly do my loins ache to hold you tight!
"I have already given you my shame, what more do you want?"
Naked, here again, against this cold cellar door.
I am the fanstasy
You are the dreamer
and this is where it ends.
A story we all know too well, and yet not at all.
It is but the dream we love, it is but "the woman a man loved
who was created by a man."
My heart disinegrates upon your dirty tile floor, and look! The color is red.
Breathe...
So I lie to die here in your arms
and all i have to ask is...
Are you my Monsieur Butterfly or am I YOURS?
I fall, down the stairs, or not at all?
Hate to love, love to hate.
Ideal the idea.
Are you my Monsieur Butterfly or am I yours?
Deconstruct my heart on your irrediscent window plane,
what do you see? What do you see!
Selfish sacrifice or Sacrifictal lust, all to create and destroy!
To cry would be a weak escape.
Place the lipstick on my lips,
here my hands do barely touch.
My modesty undresses me, look at me, don't look at me.
You Never loved me, you Always loved me...
So fully do you burn in my heart, so fithly you burn in my soul
so disgustingly do my loins ache to hold you tight!
"I have already given you my shame, what more do you want?"
Naked, here again, against this cold cellar door.
I am the fanstasy
You are the dreamer
and this is where it ends.
A story we all know too well, and yet not at all.
It is but the dream we love, it is but "the woman a man loved
who was created by a man."
My heart disinegrates upon your dirty tile floor, and look! The color is red.
Breathe...
So I lie to die here in your arms
and all i have to ask is...
Are you my Monsieur Butterfly or am I YOURS?