 |
| Wishful thinking Oh, how I wish that he would tie me With manacles and chains. That he would beat me And with a switch would hit me So that in streams my blood came running. That he would torture and abuse me! You shake your head and ask: that should be love? Yes, heaven it would be for me, Who has been starving for his love Since first I saw him some thousand nights ago. Neither the reckless fire raging nor the cruel knife Stabbed right through my heart Could kill the love I have for him. But all through my life I have been proud, so proud. I deemed myself superior. Never would I have been love's vulnerable fool enough To reveal my deepest heart, my very soul to him. But nothing than a prince of fools I have been, after all. Thus in return he now torments me With dispassionate embraces, And kills me with paltry lifeless kisses And cold green stares of indifference. And so it comes that helplessly and desperately I think of manacles and chains and whips - When all that truly I desire is One tender loving kiss I do not have to force or beg or steal away Or from his shiny pallid throat One drop of blood. As token of his love. |
 |
 |