The little death - or, in french, le petit mort - refers to the orgasm.

The Little Death
Chorus: Ragged breath, pounding pulse, you
make it burn, make it burn, make it burn
There it is, the little death, you
never learn, never learn, never learn

The drifter sees the ghosts,
the smoke, sees many things unreal
He's so absorbed he has no time
to worry about his next meal

He wanders through the city streets
hollow-eyed and thin
And the thieves close in around him
when they see the state he's in


The children suffer quietly
while their mothers sell themselves
And through the night they watch TV
in a tomb with empty shelves

And the girls they become prostitutes
and bear children of their own
And the boys they become criminals
and they build a broken home


In the street is sorrow
and the sorrow's in us too
But for tonight, let's pretend
there's only me and you

You don't understand me,
but that's how it should be
As the sun bleeds in the sky
you know what I need

And I don't understand you,
but that's how it should be
Let me spread you open wide
Let me set you free

Last edited by awesomepirate at Aug 17, 2009,