Sickness

I'm a whore and I'm feeling sorry for myself
In your arms I am drowning like the child I was

I need more, can you help me?
Feed my sins, come and kill me
It's calling, calling, calling, calling me

Endless skies falling freely down upon my head
So much for hopeless dreaming frustration settles in

I need more, can you help me?
Feed my sins, come and kill me
It's calling, calling, calling, calling me

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...