Day after day,
our love tuens gray,
like the skin on a dying man.
and 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, anymore.
and I can feel,
one of all my turns coming on,
I feel,
Cold as a razor blade
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum.
Run to the bedroom,
In the suitcase on the left,
you'll find my favorite 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 contemplate a 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?