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