Viola Buddy - Everyday When I Get Home My Wife Pretends to Be Dead (English fandub) | Текст песни

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• Everyday When I Get Home My Wife Pretends to Be Dead (English fandub)

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Yesterday, when I came home, my wife was lying on the ground,
A kitchen knife was sticking straight up from her back
With her bleeding on the floor, a stranger would be horrified
At seeing all the blood and gore that’s everywhere.

I just calmly walked towards her and smiled, saying
“This will be quite difficult for us to tidy up, today.”
Though she did not move, I heard a quiet little chuckle
And her lips drew up into a happy smile.

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead
I’m often awed by her creativity
All her deaths are different, so I’m always left there wondering
What kind of death, tomorrow, will she show me?

She pretended once to have an arrow shot straight through her head
And once she died a soldier’s death, with gun in hand.
Still, the most ridiculous was dressing as a lifeless sunfish.
I just had the urge to close the door and leave her.

Cleaning up these morbid scenes is difficult, as it would seem
With all those bloodstains all across the floor and carpet
Sometimes, she cooks dinner with the arrow still stuck in her
It’s surreal to see my undead wife be cooking

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead
I’m often awed by her creativity
Nonetheless, the compliments I give her just encourage her
So I’ve just learned to roll with what she shows me
When we were dating, even though we were quite busy,
We would always find the time for us to spend together
Driving nightly down the streets or spending weekends at the beach
I’d always be so happy just to be there with her

Then, we got married and at work, I was promoted
And I started to enjoy the time I spent in the office
Often I would work away, forgetting that my wife was staying
Home alone all day just waiting for me.

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead
I wonder what her reasons for that may be
Does she wish that our relationship would be as it once was
And does the blame for changing it fall on me?

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead
And so we spend our evenings, just her and me
If our love is destined to be manifested in this way
At least we can express our love vividly

Every day, when I come home, my wife pretends to be dead
I’m often awed by her creativity
All her deaths are different, so right now I’m left here wondering
What kind of death has she prepared to show me?