Day after day,
Our love turns gray,
Like the skin on a dying man.
And night after night,
We pretend its 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,
Youll find my favorite axe.
Dont 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 ya?
Would you like to see me try?
Ooohh. no!
Would you like to call the cops?
Do you think its time I stopped?
Why are you running away?

А мы набираем все большую и большую скорость на нашей дороге в ад.
Там увидимся.
Все.