Traduzione: Il masochista. Sono That Girl Hot.
Traduzione: Il masochista. Rollin '.
My masochistic baby went and left me (Repeat)
Can you feel it feel it feel it In your soul Can you tell me Tell me if it's hot or cold Can you tell me what it is Does it hurt you when I do this
She says you're a masochist for falling for me, So roll up your sleeves. And I think that I like her, 'cuz she tells me things I don't want to hear,
trap my lips, when I have to spit I try to swim away, but I keep getting dragged back in this Come to find my arms automatically swimming backwards, Cause I'm a Masochist
Tonight I drink to you! On this dead-end flat I infiltrate the high-rise night. This crystal filled with cheap champagne is neglected and left to multiply
The parallels in visage are uncanny and distinct, are you present? This apparition grants me with a synapse of distraction since your passing. As particles
Your lipstick presses upon perfection that pours so candidly. This sation conflagration seems to interject and then conceive this tactic fascination
So you wait for a clearing and purchase a room equipped with your pseudonym and street walking whore. When I find you, you will wish you were already
Tonight our words are forming boundaries, coercing us into this silhouette of blatant fiction. It wavers. Oh, just then you threw your arms around me
Well the night is young and so we dance to pierce this shameless statute still I would love to be the suitor to kill the motion. And when the dance
While trying to erase these feelings of captivity And you are oblivious to this thing they call ?free? You don't realize all the faults of our economy
Pain is what you need Sorrow is affecting you Rejection is turning you on You inclination Remains misunderstood Subordination You relish the torture
Can you feel it, feel it, feel it In your soul? Can you tell me Tell me if it's hot or cold? Can you tell me What it is? Does it hurt you When I do this
him and taunt him and, if at all possible, to consum With a kiss of fire. this particular illustration of this genre is called the masochism tango.
that ain't no way to treat her at all She is the one that I'm dreaming of and you always hurt the one you love And ever since my masochistic baby went
I am a mute with broken fingers, Swollen lips, and faith in telepathy. Pain for poetry - Knock heads with me. I have a muse, with breezy fingers And supple
