I read french novels all about american films
That suffer some in the translation
Into language of such romanticism.

Is it true that ‘i love you’ is dead?
And your heart sounds so much more tender
When you’re not breathing.
I want to carve our initials in your head
Like the spines of trees with arthritic limbs.
Is it true that ‘i love you’ is dead?

Be mine or there’ll be war.
Be mine or there will be war.
This bunker is buckling.
Here’s my heart.
Now give me yours.

Gut your guitar into the veins where i bled.
We’ve been talking and we think it might be best
To go to the hospital and fix your head
With your favorite anti-cuckoo medicines.
Is it true that ‘i love you’ is dead?

You have a phantom heart cursed
With scars that haunt you.

Be mine or there’ll be war.
Be mine or there will be war.
This bunker is buckling.
Here’s my heart.
Now give me yours.

You sound so much more tender
When you’re not breathing.
Is it true that ‘i love you’ is dead?