If thou could see the monster in me,
then they would run a thousand miles,
they would flee.
But what is the monster, than that of myself,
Of the tired fleating heart that longs for lust,
Nothing like himself.
If thou could see the love i bear thee,
then they would run a thousand miles,
they would flee
But what is love to those who i seek,
of the tires fleating heart that longs for lust,
nothing like himself

But no more shall they run or flee,
for they shall realise their mistake,
and thou will love me