Standard (EADGBE)

 She had nut painted arms, that were her's to keep

 And in her fear, she sought cracked pleasures.

 The passion of lovers is for death, said she,

 licked her lips, and turned to feather.

 And as I watched from underneath,

 I became aware of all that she'd keep.

 Those little foxes, so safe and sound,

 They were not dead, they'd gone to ground.

Chorus

 The passion of lovers is for death. (repeat)

She breaks her heart just a little too much,

and her jokes attract the lucky, bad type.

And when she dips and whails and slips her banshee smile

She gets the bigger of the better to the letter.