My love is as a fever, longing still..
Tempering high to my disease..
Depth of this heart, never shown for right,
Jealousy, Pride as dark as night...
No cure, for these pulses to calm,
I wish I could sacrifice, and perish in your arms...
Death has no extent,
for these anxious desires ...
No pain no gain,
In this taste of fire...
My love is as a fever, longing still,
Tempering high to my disease...
