The furnace burns, the baby turns She cries when she's hungry The morning paper will knock the door To interrupt their slumbers Are you satisfied tonight, oh, trader's wife? Does he neglect you? Crawling bar stools and touching the girls As you wash their smell from his clothes They shoot the horses when they're too old to race And so, my dear, is there room in bed for me? The setting Sun has eteched lines upon this face Shades of red of a furious defeat Are you satisfied tonight, oh, trader's wife? As he thinks to you: "I don't know you anymore, And I can't breathe in this apartment" Sleep, my Sweetie, let the days expire They've outnumbered you Hold me sweetly, like the days we bled with love A red so deep we sunk We sunk...