He was a plain piece of paper, an ordinary smith
The kind that you never trifle with
Drawn in wide-eyeliner, a solitary lass
Her beauty veiled by tortoiseshell and tinted glass

She was a husband collector of impeccable taste
She said, "My hands are tied but my glass is chaste"
He said, "If I were him, I'd fill that to the brim, so tell me more,
'Cause that's the kind of talk that I adore"

To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
As first love fades
Then two, then three
I'm certain to see
The Final Mrs. Curtain

There's not enough paper, there's not enough ink
There's not enough hours in the day, or poisons to drink
But there are too many teardrops that are still left to cry
And different kinds of kisses to help them dry

To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
As first love fades
Then two, then three
I'm certain to see
The Final Mrs. Curtain

To lay with you
To lie with you
To live with you
Maybe die with you
I'm the one who'll hold you
Till we're through
The Final Mrs. Curtain