Here I lie, Eternal Slut,
Object of your burning lust,
Born to plague you, Satan’s child:
Hated, hunted, damned, defiled!
You, Sir, are the one to blame
For making me the thing I am.
I could have been an angel if
You’d let me! My entire life
Has been spent trying to please you.
Instead of which, it seems, I tease you
And generate this aching lust
With which both you and I are cursed.
So here I lie, your femme fatale
Farouche and frenzied, soon to be
Your doom, your drug, your funeral—
So long as you keep craving me.