Day after day, love turns gray
Like the skin on 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 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 ax.

Don't look so frightened
This is just a passing phase,
One of my bad days.