All language subtitles for down.cemetery.road.s01e02.720p.web.h264-sylix[EZTVx.to]_Track3

- I feel used.
- Fuck off.

I feel special.

Like a bride.

Yeah, you look like one.

Where does your husband think you are?

Where does your wife think you are?

Doing really important work.

A public service.

She's not wrong.

No, no, no.

I'm hungry.

Might order room service.
You want something?

That him checking up on you?

No. He'll have fallen asleep
in the office,

trying to crack another case wide open.

Meanwhile we can't afford
to feed the fucking cat.

Fuck's sake.

Yeah?

This menu's weird.
"Hunter's Chicken" for breakfast?

Yeah, this is she.

Yeah, that's a--

Excuse me.

Fuck off.

How did he seem to you,
last time you saw him?

Same.

Same Joe as always.

And could you describe that default state?

Like Joe, but Joe about to go to the pub.

Anything else?

Yeah, he seemed like a man not planning
on slitting his wrists.

With respect, we never quite know
what anyone else is thinking.

With respect,
you're talking out of your arse.

Were you married to him for 30 years?

'Cause I always knew
what Joe was thinking.

- "I need a shit. I need some cake."
- I don't think my colleague--

"I need a wank.
I need to listen to Dizzy Gillespie."

He was a man of impulses.
He was a man of enthusiasms.

Joe did not do depression.

There are
a lot of poetry books in his office.

I didn't say he wasn't clever.

So there was a bright mind trapped
in a humdrum existence.

Are you actively trying to be offensive?

I think my colleague meant to say...

Could his lifestyle have been
a cause of depression?

Joe wasn't depressed.

He wanted to be a private detective.

He was living his dream.

- How was work for Joe?
- Same as always.

Depended on how well
you lot were doing your jobs.

I mean, by rights
we should've been rolling in it.

But there were a lot of debts.

Where were you last night?

With a friend.

I'm sorry, I have to ask, Mrs...

Ms. Boehm,

but could the state
of your marriage have been

a cause for Joe to, "Take action"?

He appeared to be
habitually sleeping in the office.

The couch is uncomfortable.

That's not a reason to kill yourself.

His razor was found in his hand.

Joe was squeamish around blood.

If he was gonna do it,
that's not how he'd do it. Which hand?

Left hand.

He's right-handed.

He would've passed
the razor from hand to hand.

I'm gonna head off now.

I'm afraid you need
to formally identify the body.

What, you haven't done that already?

You're his next of kin.

So it might not even be Joe?

Ms. Boehm, suicide is an
extremely traumatic form of bereavement.

Denial is often the first stage.

We can refer you
on to some support services if you'd like.

It can help to talk about it
in order to accept it as a reality.

Okay.

Okay, let's do it.

Let's go and see my dead husband.

Do you wanna lead the way?

I don't want to.

What's she doing here?

Witness statement.

She found your husband.

Who was that woman? Did you know her?

Fuck, Sarah.

You hired an actual private detective
to look for a child that you don't know.

What the hell were you thinking?

That woman was Joe's wife.

Thank you.

If you don't find
the fucker who did this, I will.

The light has shone on you tonight

But I'll go walking through
The darkened streets alone

And fall asleep with a smile

Saving my pennies
'Cause the oracle told me so...

I've learned to trust my head to turn

God.

Fuck it.

I'm sorry, Betty. There's nothing to eat.

Unless...

No.

I don't blame you.

Fucking hell!

Zoë, it's your mother-in-law.

I'd appreciate it
if you could return my calls.

We're having a gathering
tomorrow to celebrate Joe's life.

Obviously it can't be the official shiva
yet since his body hasn't been released.

Friends will be gathering
at my house in the afternoon.

I'd appreciate it
if you could make the time to come.

Hey.

Don't you wanna have a little nap?

Yeah?

Let's get you a blanket.

You going to work?

No, I'm gonna work at home.

The office is shit right now.

I've got the compliance poking
around my trades.

As if they've not got
anything better to do.

Oh, no. That's a scarf, not a blanket.

It's the size of a football pitch.

Yeah, the bigger, the posher.

It's Paula's.

Why do we have Paula Inchon's scarf?

Well, she left it here.

I tried to give it back,
but Gerard had already gone, so...

This could be...

This is my way back in.
This is a legit excuse to contact Inchon.

Right.

So, we will have it dry-cleaned
and get it delivered.

Or we give to him in person.

Drive over there.

What, to the Cotswolds?

Yeah! Yeah.

God, wouldn't you love
a nosy around their place?

Look. Look.

There, look at that. Look.

- Oh, my God.
- "Cottage."

It's bigger
than the whole fucking village.

Yeah, I'm not sure they'd want that.
I mean, I don't want that.

- I don't feel that they were really a--
- No. Fresh air and countryside.

It'll do you good.

Here.

What, you want it dry-cleaned today?

Yeah, if you've not got
anything else to do.

But, Mark, I'm...

I'm in shock. I'm grieving.

Come on. You hardly knew this Joe guy.

Okay.

All right, can we have
a nice, normal day, please?

- What are you doing?
- Well, I'm gonna go to the dry cleaners,

and then I'm gonna have
a nice, normal day.

'Cause, you know, everything's fine.

No, I didn't find a dead body.

I'm not at all traumatized.

Actually, I might go and have
a nice picnic lunch by the river.

Yeah. Lovely.

- Will you calm down, please?
- No, don't think so.

Okay. Fuck it. I'll just go
to work myself then.

- See ya.
- Bye.

Arvingdale Accounting.
Door's open, we're up on the second floor.

You lost?

You know,
we put tape across the door for a reason.

Yeah, I'm sorry. I was just...

Being nosy?

Yeah, we get a lot of your type.

Bored students, rubberneckers,
aspiring true crime podcasters.

Though they don't tend to get quite
as caught up in things as you do, Sarah.

How do you know my name?

Police officers talk to each other.

You think you're helping with your...
little investigations, but you're not.

You're getting in the way
and, respectfully,

you've no idea how fucking stupid
you're making yourself look.

Can I leave, please?

You're free to leave whenever you like.

Tip, Sarah.

Get one of those whodunit games.

Captain Partridge
in the dining room with a copper pipe.

Read a murder mystery.

Scratch the itch that way.
Less trouble for everyone.

Professor McGrath, I thought
I'd find you here in your office.

Room for a small one?

Always room for one
with a full bottle of the posh stuff.

Haven't seen you for a while.
Or that charming husband of yours.

How is the old fucker?

Oh, he's...

you know.

So, how are things with you, Tony?

You still inexplicably not canceled?

The college has been
ideologically captured.

It's all safe spaces and gender justice
and being shamed on TikTok

just for reading
the students a harmless bit of Updike.

Must be awful for you.

The lone voice of reason raging
against the dying of the light.

You're really the victim in all of this.

The Joan of Arc
of the English fucking faculty.

Well, I need something from you.

How delicious, to be needed by Zoë Boehm.

Sarah Trafford. Tucker, she was then.

You taught her.

You don't expect me
to remember every recalcitrant twonk

I've dragged
through the English curriculum?

No, just the women.

What about this?

"Jumped from the college tower...

Influence of hallucinogenics...

- Survived against all odds."
- Etcetera, etcetera, blah.

But any bells ringing?

Actually, this one, yes.

Yeah, clever girl.

She memorized the whole of The Waste Land
and the fucking footnotes.

Bit weird.

Yeah, clever women. Weird.

I was sorry when she went splat.

Can't say I was surprised.

It's like...

some students look over the parapet
and see a desperately ordinary future.

And in this one's case, they
literally look over the parapet.

I know she's attractive,

but I didn't expect you
to remember quite this much, Tony.

Well, yeah,
'cause she's still hanging around Oxford.

See her in the college.

Like a murderer returning
to the scene of the crime.

I'd offer to help,
but closest I've ever been

to a chicken is the end of a fork.

Bloody pigs swarming all over,
leaving their nonbiodegradable shit.

Yeah.

Now, why do they suddenly give a toss

about what happens
to some crappy burnt-out squat?

I don't know. Did you know them then?
The people who lived there.

Woman wasn't one for a chin-wag.

The others came and went.

Used to give the kiddie a few eggs.

Funny little thing.

Eggs.

Now you're talking.

Yeah, nothing laid since the blast.

Bits have all clamped shut.

I can relate.

You're not on the mains gas then, are ya?

Nah.

Most of us aren't down here.
Council shut it off years ago.

Buggers.

- Yeah.
- Here, I'll take that for you.

Thanks a lot.

- Have a good evening.
- Cheers.

I hope she lays soon.

You are aware the pressure
the Department is under?

Well, I wonder if
the Department could think

of this situation a bit like a game
of chess, sir?

You know, you watch it for hours
and think there's nothing going on.

But that's only because you're seeing
what's happening on the surface.

Do spare me the Zen master wankery.

Did your mad-dog agent not get
the "No More Dead Civilians" memo?

Sir, it was a field decision...

It was a field decision was it,
Malik, another one?

I must visit this field some day.

And set fire to it.

Which one of the cut-price
Kray brothers have you got on this one?

The...

The younger.

Yes, well, no wonder
I've had a litany of complaints.

With that fucking chaos factory
in the mix.

Well, I've made him aware
that I cannot protect him forever, sir.

You couldn't protect him
if he used you as a condom.

Has the sniffer woman been dealt with?

Amos had a quiet word.

Splendid. And the child?

Tucked up in the safe house, sir.

Why wasn't I informed?

Sent proof?

I know it's hard to believe,

but even I have to occasionally report
upwards to the minister.

Apologies. Note to self. Better...

better communication needed.

- Yes.
- Yeah.

Maybe we should start
a little WhatsApp group.

Actually that's a...

that's a great idea.

I can make a note, and I think
I still have your mobile number--

Get off my table.

Where is our target?

Still in the wind, sir.
But we'll find him.

I'll just reassure everyone my end
the lunatics are running the asylum.

You tell them we've got this.

Yes, and I'll add a little,
"You go, girl."

Just to keep things jaunty.

Do you know what I think, Malik?

I think you're barely in control
of this situation.

I think you need to get
your sweaty little arse back to Oxford,

and take control of
your agent in the field

before he blows up a packed school bus,

and we all lose our fucking jobs.

Maybe it wasn't a totally awesome idea

going back to the office
where the horribleness happened.

I keep replaying it in my mind.

Recovering traumatic memories can be very...

What's that word...

brain fuzzy, you know?

No. Except this one.

It gets clearer each time.

Like I had to go back there again, Wigs.

I just don't...

I don't think it's suicide.

What? Why not?

Yeah, I d...

I don't think it is.

Yeah, I feel better
for saying that out loud.

- Good. That's good.
- Yeah.

Oh, my God.

You know, except that everyone is acting

- like I'm deluded.
- What?

Like, Mark thinks me looking
for Dinah is some kind of psychosis.

What...

Even the policeman
at Joe's office treated me

like an idiot in need of a hobby.

And how do you feel about that?

Oh, my God.

- What?
- You're using your social worker voice.

- Wha--
- You think I'm crazy too.

- Wha... I didn't say that!
- Oh, my God.

- Yes, you just did.
- No, no, no.

And I would never use that word.

Honestly, I just think maybe...

you might have gone a tiny bit wonky.

Okay?

- It was just a gas explosion, Sare.
- Okay.

Honestly, Rufey explained it all again
to me last night.

And Dinah will probably show up
completely fine after all this blows over.

And poor Joe Silvermann.

Sare, he must've been
in a really dark place.

I just think...

I think you've just got to let it go.

Let it go.

Okay?

You know, when I was ten,
I found my granddad dead on the toilet.

I know.

You know, and I only released
that trauma 20 years later

in an Ayahuasca healing hut
in Glastonbury.

And, you know, look at me now.

I've got Rufus.

Sarah?

Hey, Lucy!

- Lucy?
- One of my playgroup mums.

Bit of a cow, to be honest.

Very dark energy.

Hello, lovely.

- Hey.
- How you doing?

Do you know Sarah?

We've met.

Bye. I'll see you next week.
Bye-Bye, Gracie.

Bye-Bye, darling.

- Bye.
- Gracie.

Not Dinah?

Are you okay, Sarah?

I've been chasing a kid,
and it's not even her.

It's not even her.

Oh, my God.

I'm a fucking idiot. I'm sorry.

- I'm so sorry.
- No.

I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'm doing.

- Sare.
- Oh, my God. I don't know what...

Silvermann had to go.

I might have suggested
something more plausible.

Axel's an assassin.

He's a psychopath.

And not in a good way.

You have arrived at your destination.

Right, where are you?

Satnav says that I'm here.

Oh, my good God!

Where did you fucking...

Move.

Right.

Let's get this weird school inspection
over with.

Fucking numpty.

Here it comes.

I miss my teddy.

I know. I know you do.

Vroom. Vroom.

Steph, look.

Hello.

Right. Yeah.

Well, this is quite the Montessori,
isn't it?

You could've brought her
some finger paints or something.

What's your problem?
You said keep her safe.

This is safe. She's got a toy.

She keeps asking for her teddy bear.

Please, for God's sake,
let's get her the bear.

We're not monsters.

She said she left it at home.

And my problem, Amos, mate...

Make it go faster.

...is that I'm not entirely sure
what you're up to.

It's very simple, Hamza, mate.

We sit tight,
and let the target come to us.

We use the C-H-I-L-D as B-A-I-T.

And how's that gonna work exactly?

When we're in here,
with the curtains drawn.

We've got no idea where the target is,
and we've got no way of finding out

'cause Axel Crane won't pick up
his fucking phone!

- Language.
- Sorry.

I'm so sorry. I'm...

- Don't listen to him.
- I'll call him.

But we keep the leash loose.

My brother, he's...

Well, he's an artist.

He can't be stifled.

Oh, my God.

Christ.

It's like a Soviet playground.

Christ. We're not actually gonna do
the flying thing again, are we?

What are you doing here?

I thought I'd come and watch.

What you got in here?

Naughty girl.

Do you mind if I...

I'm here to find out
who killed my husband.

What's your excuse?

Is this part of your healing process?

Police said it was suicide.

I'm sorry for your loss.

Joe couldn't slice cake,
let alone his own wrists.

I was wrong about everything.

I'm sorry,
but your husband did kill himself.

Listen, before you turned up,
Joe's work was boring as fuck.

It was dog theft.

Insurance fraud.

Sitting outside Didcot Parkway Travelodge,
waiting for some sweaty middle manager

to finish shagging his au pair.
It was nothing.

And then you walked in,
you said the name Dinah Singleton,

and now he's dead,
and you're up on a roof.

It's got nothing to do with me.

Fine. Okay, you go back
to your Farrow and Ball life,

to your kimchi and your Nutribullet

and your bland but undoubtedly tasteful
scatter cushions,

and you won't have to think twice
about poor old Joe,

who died because he was helping you.

Why did you let yourself get
so fucking small?

What happened to the girl who came
to Oxford actually wanting to fly?

Well, you know, I've been
thinking a bit about you too, Zoë.

Where were you when your husband died?

You got a choice, Sarah.

You can chuck yourself off the roof,

or you can help me give Joe's life
a shred of dignity and meaning.

Or you can help me and
then you can chuck yourself off the roof.

I don't give a fuck, but make up your mind

because there's no point in hanging
around here, confusing the gargoyles.

God, does everything you say have to be,
like, really horrible?

No, you're right. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

You make your way down
when you're ready to talk.

Preferably by the stairs.

- It was chaos at the hospital.
- Well, it's a hospital.

Yeah, no, but I'm sure I saw
a nurse put a child in the back of an SUV.

And there was this businessman, Gerard,
who I thought was involved somehow.

Turns out he wasn't.

What about this guy
that you think is following you?

What's he look like?

Well, he's got a ponytail and a beard.

Drives a gray van.

No more detail than that?

Yeah, no, well, he's Black.

Yeah.

Well, why not say that?

I don't know,
I just thought it was inappropriate.

Fuck's sake, woman.

Sorry. "Woman." Is that inappropriate?

So, whoever killed Joe could be
the man with the ponytail.

Could be somebody else.

Probably planted the bomb as well.

But why was Joe on their radar?

What had he done to put him in danger?

Because, no offense,
but yours and Joe's investigation

so far amount to pretty much fuck all, so.

Wait, wait, so you think
that house was deliberately blown up?

Yeah.

The gas had been shut off.

I go left here so...

Okay, well, I'll walk you home.

Pick up a cab from there.

- Thanks.
- It's not for the company.

It's dangerous out there.

Well... This is me, so...

Nice.

Okay.

Forgot.

He left this for you.

Don't get emotional.
It's just your invoice.

Payable within 28 days.

Joe might be dead,
but the bailiffs aren't.

I really am so sorry about Joe.

Me too.

Actually...

I need a piss.

- Could...
- Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course.

My husband's asleep.

Bollocks.

Shit.

Wait there. Wait there.

Fuck.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait.

Sorry, it keeps breaking.

Yeah. No shit.

Wait, hang on. I'll see you...

out.

Fuck.

Message from your assistant.

Did that toast do something
to piss you off?

Do you really not know why I'm upset?

Oh, my God.

I waited up for you.

Your phone was off.
I called Wigwam, almost called your mum.

- I was this close to calling the police.
- Okay. Okay.

So... Aren't you gonna say sorry?

Aren't you gonna say sorry?

For what?

I found a dead body, Mark.

I could've used a bit of support,

but instead you just banged on about
getting Paula Inchon's scarf dry-cleaned.

You had one job.

I bet you didn't
even take it to the dry cleaners.

Oh, my God!

I'll wash the fucking thing myself!

What are you doing?

- I'll just do it here.
- No, it's too late. It's too late!

It's too late! Now.

Inchon pulled out of the deal.

Well, good.

I don't want you doing business with him.

Clearly.

I'm sorry, what does that mean?

I gather you've been sniffing
around the hospital,

asking questions because
of your obsession with Dinah Singleton.

No, it's not an obsession actually.

I just caught you looking at footage
of the fucking explosion on my phone!

Were you looking for her?

Your weird fixation is probably
why my actual grown-up deal's gone south.

- Grown-up?
- Yeah, grown-up.

Real life.

Not like chasing after some imaginary kid.

She's not imaginary!

Okay, she's not the...

She's not the kid
that I imagined her to be, but--

What? You're not even making any sense.

Well, I'm just trying to look out
for a really vulnerable kid. Okay?

Who nobody asked you to help!

It's none of your business, Sarah.

It's all projection.

Just...

Just let it go.

Like a normal person.

Do you know what? I...

I'm just gonna stay in London tonight.

Get my assistant to book me into a hotel.

Oh, my.

Hi.

I need to speak to someone.

Anyone in charge. It's urgent.

Mrs. Trafford? Can I help you?

Oh, hi. Yeah. Can I show you something?

- Come with me.
- Yeah.

- Are you all right?
- Yeah, look, I...

I just want you to take a look.

Okay, so,
the outer door was slightly open.

I pushed the pane of glass.

The scarf got caught on the door knob.

I pulled the scarf free,
and I went through into the inner office.

That's when I saw Joe.

And you're certain you didn't go
any further into the room?

You didn't touch Mr. Silvermann's body?

No, I'm certain.

I can't promise a result.

Yeah, I need
to get something sent to Forensics.

I'm on my lunch break.

Sorry, I expect you're knackered
from your busy schedule

of sitting in the SUV
doing sweet Fanny nothing.

What do you want?

I wanna know why we've just had
a flag on the Silvermann case.

Thought you put the frighteners on.

But a certain person's busy
sticking their beak in again.

We might have to...

take further steps.

Might?

Don't do might.

All right, fine.

Send him in.

But tell him to be discrete. Plausible.

Domestic.

I'm talking choking on a fish bone,

not stabbed up the nose hole
with a nunchuck.

Mark, you still here?

Hello?

Hello?

Mark?

Fuck.

- Sarah?
- Oh, my God.

What the fuck are...
You scared the shit out of me.

Sorry. Yeah, like,

- we were just coming over to you.
- Yeah.

Mark messaged,
said you were all by yourself.

So we just thought we'd
quickly pop some treats 'round.

Look, we don't need to know
anything about what's going on

with you and Markey,
that's your personal business.

But if you wanted to tell us everything,
you know, that's fine too.

There was a stranger in my house.

God, I'm sure it must feel
that way sometimes, but he--

She doesn't mean Mark.

Did you see what he looked like?

He went out through the back gate.

You know what?
Let's just get you back inside, yeah?

- Yeah.
- Yeah, come on.

Hey. Come on, Sare. It's all right.

Hey, why don't we pop some of
your business cards in around here, Rufey?

He can do anything.

Blocked drains, mulching.

I mean, his skill set is phenomenal.

- Wigwam, stop. It's embarrassing.
- What?

No, I'm just so proud of you,
Captain Helpful.

You're an asset to your community.

We've gotta go and pick up the kids.

Are you gonna be all right
from here, Sare?

Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine.

I could stay for a bit if--

Yeah, please.

Yeah, just for a bit? If it's...

Is that all right?

Captain Helpful rides again.

- Okay.
- Bye.

Can you go in first?

- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
- Thanks.

Yeah. Absolutely.

Hello!

It's all good.

- Take that?
- Yeah.

Let's get you feeling safe. Shall we?

How about I check the locks?

You make us some tea?

Sounds great, thanks, Rufus.

Okay, tea.

Wigwam's always talking about

how scary it is to be a woman on your own.

How you feel so defenseless.

Yeah, it is frightening sometimes.

The windows are fine,
I'll check the back door.

Hey. All done.

Safe as houses.

As it were.

How about we say "fuck tea,"
and have a proper drink?

- Fuck tea.
- Fuck tea.

- Ma'am?
- No.

Good of you to finally grace us.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I've been very busy.

I wish you long life.

What's worth living without my Joey?

Look at us.

We should be sitting shiva,
instead of telling stories.

Everyone's asking questions.

When can we have the funeral?

I can't answer that. I'm so sorry.

He wouldn't do this.

It's not in his character.

He's a happy person.

You didn't want to be married
to him anymore and he knew that.

You have duties as his widow.

You can't ignore them.

With respect, Janice, you have no idea

the admin nightmare
I've been dealing with.

No. No, no. Not what I mean, Zoë.

You must mourn him.

Not for him or for me but for you.

Must have messed you and Mark up though.

The thing with...

What's his name?

Joe.

- Yeah.
- Poor guy.

Imagine being
in such a bad way you do that.

Guess you never know
what's going on with people.

Yeah, but, Rufus...

I don't think he killed himself.

Wow.

Okay.

You know why I hired him?

Sorry, tell me again.

Well, Dinah Singleton...

I think she's been taken.

I think she's
out there somewhere in danger.

I think that someone blew up the house.

And I think they're trying to cover it up.

And I think they broke into Joe's office,

they slit his wrists,
and they made it look like suicide.

That's quite a theory.

Yeah, I know. Like, literally
everyone thought I was fucking crazy

until I went to the police today
with cold, hard proof.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Joe's blood was on the door knob.

It got on the scarf I was wearing.

Killer got careless.

Gosh.

You're quite the little Nancy Drew.

God, shall we get some more wine?

Hey...

I'll get it.

Get one of Mark's Barolos.

He won't mind.

Well, not much.

You all right?

Hey, I found this on the floor.

It looks important.

Oh, no, it's just Joe's invoice.

I'll get that fresh bottle.

- Rufus?
- Coming.

Couldn't find the Barolo.

He wrote me a note.

He was gonna drop the case.

"On the upside,
I run a monthly board games night.

You're always welcome to join.

Sometimes we play Cluedo."

He was such a nice man.

- Do you want me to...
- Please.

"Much as I'd like to pretend otherwise,
I'm a very ordinary PI.

And this is shaping up to be
a very extraordinary investigation.

If you do keep going, have a look
at whoever died in that explosion.

I've put in a freedom of information
request about the Singletons.

It might point you
in the right direction."

Fuck. He'd actually worked something out.

I should call Zoë.

Can I have that letter...

Are you all right? Do you want...

- Do you want some more wine?
- I'm all right, thanks.

Don't wanna drink too much.

Might get careless.

You know,

leave blood on a doorknob.

Okay, Rufus, that's not funny.

It's not meant to be.

You know what was funny though?

The noise Silvermann made when he died.

Like a little girl.

Had to put my fingers
in his nose to shut him up

while he bled out all over
his lovely hardwood floors.

Who are you?

You can still call me Rufus.

But my real name's Axel.

Your friendly neighborhood assassin.

- Wait, you planted the bomb?
- Yeah, and you know what?

It wasn't my best work.

The kid.

Messy.

Anyway, I think it's about time

- we wrapped this up.
- No!

Get the fuck away from me.
Get the fuck away from me!

Oh, God--

Look out ahead

See danger come

I want a pistol

I want a gun

I'm scared, baby

I wanna run

This world's crazy

Give me the gun

Baby, baby ain't it true

I'm immortal when I'm with you

But I want a pistol in my hand

I wanna go to a different land

I met a man

He told me straight