Day after day, our love turns grey

Like the skin on a dying man

And night after night, we pretend it's alright

But I have grown older, and you have grown colder

And nothing is very much fun, anymore

And I can feel one of my turns coming on

And I feel cold as a razor blade,

Tight as a tourniquet,

Dry as a funeral drum...

Come to the bedroom!

In the suitcase on the left you'll find my favorite ax!

Don't look so frightened!

This is just a passing phrase, one of my bad days!

Would you like to watch TV! Or mmphmmglmmph!

Or contemplate the silent freeway!

Would you like something to eat?

Would you like to learn to fly?

Would ya? Would you like to see me try?

[instrumental Break]

Would you like to call the cops? Do you think it's time I stopped?

Why are you running away...?