Okay, this one's called Berlin 4-2.
With a young widow, a mourner of death. Black's not your color, despite what is said.
All of our friends may sure raise an eye. Might I inquire or ask you tonight?
Go swiftly, go softly into the room. And bearing your arms, I surely will swear.
Lie ourselves gently down onto the bed. Be the distraction for what's in your head.
Heartache leaves a sore sore. We'll make love on the floor.
I'll be the one to make sure you won't freeze. And you can relearn how to breathe.
Model your mother sitting at home. Holding the baby that you'll raise so long.
Look in his eyes and see buddy's dad. And think of the children that you'll never have.
Well he wore them so proudly, those medals of war. Never quite told you what they were for.
But he kissed you and held you and went on his way. Promise to love you till his dying day.
Heartache leaves a sore sore. We'll make love on the floor.
I'll be the one to make sure you won't freeze. And you can relearn how to breathe.
Don't you pretend to be dead. Just because somebody took him instead.
I can't hold you tonight. We can make something of this goodbye.
Heartache leaves a sore sore.
We'll make love on the floor.
