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...