Every Day a Little Death

Charlotte: Every day a little death,

In the parlour, in the bed,

In the curtains, in the silver,

In the buttons, in the bread.

Everyday a little sting,

In the heart and in the head.

Every move and every breath,

And you hardly feel a thing,

Brings a perfect little death.

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.

Anne: So do I!

So do I.

Charlotte: I'm before him on my knees,

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.

Anne: Oh, how true.

Charlotte: Ah, well.

Everyday a little death.

Anne: Everyday a little death.

Charlotte: In the parlour, in the bed.

Anne: In the looks and in the acts.

Charlotte: In the curtains, in the silver,

In the buttons, in the bread.

Anne: In the murmurs, in the gestures,

In the pauses, in the sighs.

Charlotte: Everyday a little sting.

Anne: Everyday a little dies.

Charlotte: In the heart and in the head.

Anne: In the looks and in the lies.

Charlotte: Every move and every breath,

Both: And you hardly feel a thing,

Brings a perfect little death.