I'm sick at heart, my love, to think
that you can't comprehend
how hard I fight, how low I sink,
how far I twist and bend
to free you from the awful price
we'll both pay in the end.

I'm sick at heart, my love, to see
how hard you push away.
You think that what you did to me
was only harmless play;
but can't you guess the awful price
you'll one day need to pay?

I'm sick at heart, my love, to know
you'll never really care.
You broke my heart so long ago
and you're still unaware--
but how could you have known, my love,
when you were never there?

I'm sick to death of you, my love,
and sick of holding back
and soon you'll see I'm not above
your own prefered attack;
I'll be as cold as you, my love,
and make my heart as black.

I'm not afraid, my love, to lose
my place within your chain;
I'm not afraid, my love, to choose
between the wind and rain:
I'll take whatever's coldest, love,
and leave you with the pain.