The furnace burns, the baby turns

She cries when she's hungry

The morning paper will knock the door

To interrupt their slumbers



But are you satisfied tonight, oh, trader's wife?

Does he neglect you?

Crawling bar stools and touching the girls

As you wash their smell from his clothes



They shoot the horses when they're too old to race

And so, my dear, is there room in bed for me?

The setting Sun has eteched lines upon this face

Shades of red of a furious defeat



Are you satisfied tonight, oh, trader's wife?

As he thinks to you:

"I don't know you anymore,

And I can't breathe in this apartment"



Sleep, my Sweetie, let the days expire

They've outnumbered you

Hold me sweetly, like the days we bled with love

A red so deep we sunk

We sunk...