Not a Lot of Room for Making Love… (Alas, It’ll Have to Do, I Guess)

It's been two-hundred-and-thirty-seven days
Since you put me in the grave
And I just couldn't stay
Now I wander past the cemetery gates
To put you in your place
Or see if you might let me stay for a night

'Cos it's cold in my tomb
And there ain't a lot of room
For making love

Like a ghost, I'll sing it
OooOooOooOoo
OooOooOooOoo
Now this ghost is weeping
OooOooOooOoo
OooOooOooOoo

Now every time I float right past your name
I start to miss the days
When you'd come to clean my grave
And all the while I'm filled with such a rage
You keep my ghost at bay
You made salt-circles all arranged in a way

To send me back to my tomb
Where there ain't a lot of room
For making love

Like a ghost, I'll sing it
OooOooOooOoo
OooOooOooOoo
Now this ghost is weeping
OooOooOooOoo
OooOooOooOoo

There ain't no rest, there's only grief and pain
For lovers here who love without their brain

Scream like a banshee
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Taste my blood and kiss my lips
Burn me with your crucifix
When you're done, come grab my hips
Bury me in Paris
Taste my blood and kiss my lips
Burn me with your crucifix
When you're done, come grab your whip
Bury me in your hips
Taste my blood and kiss my lips
Burn me with your crucifix
When you're done, come grab my hips
Bury me in Paris