Your mother is a journalist, your father is a creepThey make it in your bedroom when they think you're fast asleepThe scenes that they're enacting now beside your little bedAre never in your consciousness but always in your headBabyIt might sound dodgy nowBut it sounds great when you're deadIt sounds great when you'reYour sister is a butterfly, your brother is a drunkYou gaze at him reclining in formaldehyde a trunkHe lives and breathes on systems that nobody can supplyAnd you're immune to everything except the butterflyYeahBabyIt might sound dodgy nowBut it sounds great when you're deadIt sounds great when you're deadBaby, you're incredible, I think that you're the mostI've searched around for everything like you from coast to coastYour name engraved in diamonds written in my heartWe're at our most together when we're at our most apartBabyIt might sound dodgy nowBut it sounds great when you're deadBabyIt might sound dodgy nowBut baby let me assure youIt sounds great when you're dead