Oh goddess, why do you toy me so?
Does it amuse you when I feel sore?
Or is this a test to see how I score?
I'm lost, I'm sick, I'm poisoned, I'm torn.
Your gift's a rose, armed with thorns;
It rips my heart, every time it spawns;
Everyday I heal, I recover, somewhere at dawn;
Just to be ripped at night by those hateful thorns.
If that's the way it must be;
I'll accept my fate, I'll let it be;
Rip as much, torn me apart;
Just don't tell me right now we're apart.
Rejoice Aphrodite, you got what you want.
I'll embrace your gift, even if it kills me.
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