| goodbye, my life will soon en |
| i know they’ll all blame you |
| as for all the flowers i sent |
| you bastard, you let them die too! |
| when i’m dead how sorry you’ll be |
| all that grief upon your plate |
| then you’ll have to make time for me |
| but, ha, ha!, by then you’ll be too late |
| i see the headlines on the front page |
| 'singer kills himself for love' |
| think of all the hurt and outrage |
| it would cause in my fan club |
| loading rocks into their purses |
| they will lay in wait for you |
| cover you in spit and curses |
| it’s your worst fears all coming true |
| newspapers will pull apart |
| the poor excuses you gave |
| a million fans with broken hearts |
| their tears will rain down on my grave |
| your life will be hell from now on, |
| like a wave they’ll all be coming at ya |
| in an angry human sea |
| a quick one upon your hotel room floor |
| is all i’m wanting you for |
| cost you too much to reject me |
| my girl gang can get quite mad |
| so make love to me my dear |
| to turn me down would be real bad |
| one phone call … i can bring those harpies here |
| and i bet my golden balls |
| that all my fans pull and tear |
| and with ugly midnight phone calls |
| turn your sweet dreams into nightmares |
| with jealous mouths like snarling roses |
| you will see them close in |
| and singing songs that i’ve composed |
| they’ll slowly rip you limb from limb |
| your life will be hell from now on… |