| She sat in a wicker chair, her eyes they were downcast
|
| She breathed in the future, by breathing out the past
|
| The die is done, the die is shook, the die is duly cast
|
| There is a dead man in my bed, she said
|
| That smile you see upon his face
|
| It’s been there for many days
|
| There’s a dead man in my bed
|
| I ain’t been feeling that good too much no more, she said, I swear
|
| She pointed at the bedroom door and said I ain’t going in there
|
| She leaped out of her seat and screamed someone’s not concentrating here
|
| There is a dead man in my bed, she said
|
| I ain’t speaking metaphorically
|
| His eyes are open but he cannot see
|
| There’s a dead man in my bed
|
| The leaves outside the window waved, all brown, they were, and falling
|
| Even I could tell the atmosphere in here was utterly appalling
|
| The phone it rang incessantly but nobody was calling
|
| There’s a dead man in my bed, she said
|
| And though he keeps on taking notes
|
| I swear this ain’t some kind of hoax
|
| Dead man in my bed
|
| Now she’s in the kitchen, rattling those pots and pans
|
| I’d cook him something nice, she said, but he refuses to wash his hands
|
| He used to be so good to me, now he smells so fucking bad
|
| There is a dead man in my bed, she said
|
| I keep poking at him with my stick
|
| But his skin is just so fucking thick
|
| There’s a dead man in my bed
|
| We’ve gotta get it all together
|
| We’ve gotta get it all together
|
| We’ve gotta get it all together
|
| We’ve gotta get it all together |