If you'd tell me it's real I can make an appeal to the controlling fragile child, Let me speak. He won't make sense until we reach the consequence. It's voluntary like your smile, as he quakes. Now I know this must be love. When you dared me to feel, when I made that appeal to the incorrigible child you stuffed his mouth with dirty rags and tied his head within a bag pitch black and silken like your smile. He's silent.... Now I know this must be love. Little drops upon my cuffs let me know this must be love. Red, red, drops upon my cuffs let me know this must be love. Now I know this must be love.