Angele Dei,
qui custos es mei,
me, tibi commissum pietate superna,
illumina, custodi,
rege et guberna.
Amen.

Call me with a prayer, my dear, I won't appear if you don't. I don't care if you failed to protect me and take care of me, I'll do it for you. I'll take you between my arms, you can cry your sadness away, I'll watch your steps for you, I'll catch you if you fall, I expect no payback, I only act out of pure love.

But please don't make me do anything blasphermous, please don't make my angel costume fall off. Please! I'm enjoying so much putting on a show.

Please don't make me remember how much I like feeling you up, how much I like it when I rip moans out of you throat and make you cry while I make you swing between plasure and pain.

You're making it so hard for me to keep this facade on, you never collaborate, you always remind me how rotten I am inside. And you're also like me, don't you? You sick pervert, you enjoy the roleplay too, I can see you melting away everytime you call God. Is it exciting to know that there's no forgiveness for you? If so, let me take advantage and make your bed your favourite spot from hell.

But what's this feeling of uneasyness I feel when I release the tension I built up? I feel so dirty, and it doesn't wash away with a shower nor with a bath. I don't feel clean until I scrub so hard on my skin it becomes scarlet red. My actions always haunt me while you're peacefully asleep.

Call me with a prayer, my dear, I won't appear if you don't. Maybe this time I'll do a better work.