The bombshell lies on my bed
Smiles and leans back her head
I go down cautiously
Tonight I am playing with fire
Using my tongue tenderly
To tickle the red wire.
I will die in this little room
If this bombshell goes boom.
They killed a hundred and thirty in Paris
With guns and devices just like this
They arranged the bodies in lines
Their pictures in the New York Times.
I should have switched off the television before we started to kiss
It is difficult; making love in these terrorist times.