| Your mother is a journalist, your father is a creep
|
| They make it in your bedroom when they think you’re fast asleep
|
| The scenes that they’re enacting now beside your little bed
|
| Are never in your consciousness but always in your head
|
| Baby
|
| It might sound dodgy now
|
| But it sounds great when you’re dead
|
| It sounds great when you’re
|
| Your sister is a butterfly, your brother is a drunk
|
| You gaze at him reclining in formaldehyde a trunk
|
| He lives and breathes on systems that nobody can supply
|
| And you’re immune to everything except the butterfly
|
| Yeah
|
| Baby
|
| It might sound dodgy now
|
| But it sounds great when you’re dead
|
| It sounds great when you’re dead
|
| Baby, you’re incredible, I think that you’re the most
|
| I’ve searched around for everything like you from coast to coast
|
| Your name engraved in diamonds written in my heart
|
| We’re at our most together when we’re at our most apart
|
| Baby
|
| It might sound dodgy now
|
| But it sounds great when you’re dead
|
| Baby
|
| It might sound dodgy now
|
| But baby let me assure you
|
| It sounds great when you’re dead |