Sickness کے بول

I'm a whore and I'm feeling sorry for myself In your arms I am drowning like the child I was I need more, can you help me? Feed my sins, come and kill me It's calling, calling, calling, calling me Endless skies falling freely down upon my head So much for hopeless dreaming frustration settles in I need more, can you help me? Feed my sins, come and kill me It's calling, calling, calling, calling me Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...