To love is to hate a very little.
That’s not true. I despise her. I hate him.
He would sell me out just to be with her.
I love him, but he’ll never give a damn.

I’m nothing more than a little street rat.
I chose a hard life. I wanted to live.
He doesn’t appreciate what I chose.
In suicide I could take. But I give.

I give him my love, but he never sees.
He is blind to what is real; I was, too.
But I am poverty, unhappiness,
And he is as pure as the sky is blue.

I will not forget that he adores her.
I wouldn’t be her if it could be willed.
If he doesn’t love me, I’ll just fight it.
I know to love is to kill or be killed.