(K. J. Garside C. Gray)
I used to know this wretched girl,
I made her open for me,
I took her heart,
And I kissed it clean,
But she still kicks against me.
Are the songs my disease?
Are the songs my disease?
Maybe she's creating me,
Mistaken accidentally,
For a girl I used to know,
In darkness permanently,
If I find her the perfect line,
My sickness might desert me.
Are the songs my disease?
Are the songs my disease?
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