| This is the place where she lay her head | 
| When she went to bed at night | 
| And this is the place our children were conceived | 
| Candles lit the room at night | 
| And this is the place where she cut her wrists | 
| That odd and fateful night | 
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling | 
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling | 
| This is the place where we used to live | 
| I paid for it with love and blood | 
| And these are the boxes that she kept on the shelf | 
| Filled with her poetry and stuff | 
| And this is the room where she took the razor | 
| And cut her wrists that strange and fateful night | 
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling | 
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling | 
| I never would have started if I’d known | 
| That it’d end this way | 
| But funny thing I’m not at all sad | 
| That it stopped this way | 
| Stopped this way | 
| This is the place where she lay her head | 
| When she went to bed at night | 
| And this is the place our children were conceived | 
| Candles lit the room brightly at night | 
| And this is the place where she cut her wrists | 
| That odd and fateful night | 
| And I said oh oh oh oh oh oh what a feeling | 
| And I said oh oh oh oh oh oh what a feeling |