I'm growing impatient, drawing the blood of the masochist, I wait for you, the sadist.
If it's possible, with a poison kiss...
Unable to see virtue in the meaning of my sorrow, in you the last mother,
I bury the memory so that you can not notice first mother.
Even if the clock spins to the left, sins committed can't be changed,
In the beginning I imprint the final sympathizer.
Look at the me being unwilling, fiercely and then gently, a forced decision
Which I can't say I've made to you.
The sound of creaking leather hurts, the wounds go deep.
Deeply jealous will you always be this cold blooded?
Even now I don't want to forget the abuse of my youth.
Why don't I have a mother? Tell me.
Someday I'll notice the kindness in the "crib" that became my patron mother.
Before I couldn't see the reason for my bitterness, in my final mother
So that at least you don't notice first mother.
Even if the clock spins to the left, sins committed can't be changed
In the beginning the last sympathizer was destroyed.
I wonder if you are too gentle to me? relfecting a trauma from long ago
Am I who destroys to the last you a sadist?