Depeche Mode

The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone
The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind
I stop and I stare too much
Afraid that I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell may be broken
When I need a drug in me
And it brings out the thug in me
Feel something tugging me
Then I want the real thing not tokens
The sweetest perfection...
Things you'd expect to be