He smiles sweetly, strokes my hair,
Says he misses me.
I would murder him right there, but first I die.
He talks softly of his wars and his horses and his whores.
I think love’s a dirty business.

So do I

Betty Buckley:                                                                   Carol Maillard:
I’m before him on my knees                                            So do I
And he kisses me
He assumes I’ll lose my reason and I do
Men are stupid, men are vain,
Love’s disgusting, love’s insane,
A humiliating business.
                                                                                          Carol Maillard:
                                                                                          Oh how true

Betty Buckley:
Ah, well
Every day a little death                                                   Every day a little death
In the parlor in the bed                                                    In the looks and in the acts
In the curtains in the silver in the buttons in the bed  In the pauses, in the gestures, in The  murmurs in the sighs
Every day a little sting in the heart in the head            Every day a little dies
Every movement, every breathe,                                   In the looks and in the lies
And you hardly feel a thing                                             And you hardly feel a thing
Brings a perfect little death.                                            Brings a perfect little death.