Day after day, loves turns grey

Like the skin of a dying man

Night after night, we pretend it's all right

But I have grown older and

You have grown colder and

Nothing is very much fun any more.

And I feel one of my turns coming on.

I feel, cold as a razors blade

Tight as an tourniquet

Dry as a funeral drum,

Rain in the bedroom, in the suitcase on the left

You'll find my favourite axe

Don't look so frightened

This is just a passing phase

One of my bad days

Would you like to watch TV?

Or get between the sheets?

Or comtemplate the silent freeway?

Would you like something to eat?

Would you like to learn to fly?

Would you like to see me try?

Would you like to call the cops?

Do you think it's time I stopped?

Why are you running away?