Don’t talk to her when shooting stars are falling
Don’t talk to her when she can smell the jasmine in the air
Don’t talk to her when no one knows you’re calling
You might just say the words that keep her waiting there

Don’t talk to her when she is softly sleeping
Don’t wake her to the sound of your voice whispering her name
Don’t tell her all the secrets you’ve been keeping
Don’t tell her that you’re drowning in a river of shame

When the wolf is howling
Underneath the moon
Underneath the window
Of a hotel room
Burn the blanket
Shoot the light
But don’t talk to her at night

Don’t talk to her in thunder or in lightning
Don’t talk to her with fuses blown and wires falling down
Don’t talk to her when the fever is frightening
When she’s burning in the bedroom in an evening gown

Or when the wolf is howling
Underneath the moon
Underneath the window
Of a hotel room
Burn the blanket
Shoot the light
But don’t talk to her at night
Don’t talk to her at night

While on those lovely looks I gaze
To see a wretch pursuing,
In raptures of a blest amaze,
His pleasing, happy ruin,
’Tis not for pity that I move:
His fate is too aspiring
Whose heart, broke with a load of love,
Dies wishing and admiring.

But if this murder you’d forgo,
Your slave from death removing,
Let me your art of charming know,
Or learn you mine of love.
But whether life or death betide,
In love ’tis equal measure:
The victor lives with empty pride,
The vanquished die with pleasure.