I love a man, whose love is violence; Who always comes, who goes away. Who never brings me any flowers To blossom in my blazing shade. And all of his weak-heart love is lonely; our love is running out of breath. When I wake, you cannot know me; When I sleep, I dream of death. Wire, Cradle, Cross and Arrow; Mother's milk or Crone's Rage. Mouths like Wolves, we dine like Sparrows; There is grace in great restraint. And all of his weak-heart love is lonely; our love is running out of breath When I wake, you cannot know me; When I sleep, I dream of death. And I could not help but leave and wonder, What spirit steals your awful head. And I am grateful for your candor; I could not love a better man. 'Cause all of his weak-heart love is lonely; our love is running out of breath When I wake, you cannot know me; When I sleep, I dream of death."