Day after day, love 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 can feel

One of my turns coming on

I feel

Cold as 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 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 contemplate the silent freeway?

Would you like something to eat?

Would you like to learn to fly?

Would you, would you like to see me try?

Oh! Oh no!

Would you like to call the cops?

Do you think it's time I stopped?

Why are you running away?