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?