|
seems that things |
|
getting kind of rough |
|
guess I did not realize |
|
in time |
|
why, I ask why |
|
he doesn't trust me |
|
he doesn't trust |
|
anybody |
|
strange kind of love |
|
middle of the day |
|
sun's beating rays |
|
they hurt around my eyes |
|
and meantime |
|
how do I explain |
|
the marks and the despair |
|
I'm living life a lie |
|
why |
|
I ask myself why |
|
he doesn't trust me |
|
he doesn't trust anyone, no |
|
strange kind of love |
|
but I don't let him go |
|
as he clearly shows |
|
that without me, without me |
|
he'd die |
|
so I stay, I take the pain |
|
I rot away . . . |
