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Charlotte: Every day a little death, |
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In the parlour, in the bed, |
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In the curtains, in the silver, |
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In the buttons, in the bread. |
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Everyday a little sting, |
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In the heart and in the head. |
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Every move and every breath, |
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And you hardly feel a thing, |
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Brings a perfect little death. |
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He smiles sweetly, strokes my hair, |
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Says he misses me. |
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I would murder him right there, |
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But first I die. |
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He talks softly of his wars, |
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And his horses, and his whores, |
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I think love's a dirty business. |
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Anne: So do I! |
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So do I. |
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Charlotte: I'm before him on my knees, |
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And he kisses me. |
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He assumes I'll lose my reason, |
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And I do. |
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Men are stupid, men are vain, |
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Love's disgusting, love's insane, |
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A humiliating business. |
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Anne: Oh, how true. |
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Charlotte: Ah, well. |
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Everyday a little death. |
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Anne: Everyday a little death. |
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Charlotte: In the parlour, in the bed. |
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Anne: In the looks and in the acts. |
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Charlotte: In the curtains, in the silver, |
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In the buttons, in the bread. |
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Anne: In the murmurs, in the gestures, |
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In the pauses, in the sighs. |
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Charlotte: Everyday a little sting. |
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Anne: Everyday a little dies. |
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Charlotte: In the heart and in the head. |
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Anne: In the looks and in the lies. |
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Charlotte: Every move and every breath, |
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Both: And you hardly feel a thing, |
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Brings a perfect little death. |
