I've been looking through my memories,
Trying to recover that tenderness
That was somehow stolen from me.

All my life I've been a saint,
You'll think I'm lying.
Of course I am.

In reality, I'm a demon.
No-one has ever been able to look at me
And tell me otherwise.

So where did that love go?
In a hundred years, even a thousand,
Would anything ever change?

So, I ask of you,
Of anyone willing to hear;
Should I keep on searching?