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He was a plain piece of paper
An ordinary smith
The kind that you never
trifle with
Drawn in wide-eyeliner
A solitary lass
Her beauty veiled by tortoiseshell
and tinted glass
She was a husband collector of
impeccable taste
She said “My hands are tied
but my glass is chaste”
He said, “If I were him, I’d fill
that to the brim, so tell me more”
‘Cos that’s the kind of talk
that I adore”
To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
As first love fades
Then two, then three
I’m certain to be
The Final Mrs. Curtain
There’s not enough paper
There’s not ink
There are not enough hours
Or poisons to drink
But there are too many
teardrops still left to cry
And different kinds of kisses to
help them dry
To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
As first love fades
Then two, then three
I’m certain to see
The Final Mrs. Curtain
To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
I’m the one who’ll hold you
‘til we’re through,
The Final Mrs. Curtain
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