You punish me with silence; your peace abuses me with doubt.
Last night's shower of sweet nothings dried up and what's left is drought.
She and I compete in your head, but you won't tell me if I've lost.
You'd rather play your hand at juggling -- count yourself a player boss.
Is this what's called the thrill of torture?
Is this what's called evil with glee?
If this much pain is what it takes to earn you
How come you haven't announced yet that the winner is me?
You exalt me to the sky on one day, and, the next, you watch me fall flat.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde called, and they want their two faces back.
You didn't have to make me believe in such things as love and hope.
What power trip did it give you to string me along as a doe-eyed dope?
Is this what's called the thrill of torture?
Is this what's called evil with glee?
If this much pain is what it takes to earn you
How come you haven't announced yet that the winner is me?
You say I'm too young and that she's a longtime friend you share a past with.
I compete with nostalgia, history and the fact that you have this guilt.
How can I win when the odds are stacked against me over and over?
How can I win when your fears won't give me a chance to best her?
Is this what's called the thrill of torture?
Is this what's called evil with glee?
If this much pain is what it takes to earn you
How come you haven't announced yet that the winner is me?
