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...