A benign or malignant tumour in my head,
That decides how much time I still have,
Isn’t the reason she spends nights near my bed.
I suppose that’s what people call love.
Outstanding,incommensurate sacrifice,
That was sent down to her from above,
It did not imply having a prize.
‘Cause the anguish is weaker than love.
And the eczema spots on her hands
Mean completely nothing at all.
I’ve been dreaming of force and defense
That provides me a total control.