"call the New Detectives"

I'm beginning to think our love has died
the whole house is beginning to smell
it's like our love's been wrapped up in a shower curtain
and shoved under the house with the feet sticking out

that's not a good enough job, girl!
we gotta bury our love
gotta cut it up cut it up in the tub
make it easier to carry to the car
it's not a pleasant chore, girl
I guess I have to do it myself
you always disappear when the going gets hard
I haven't seen you I don't know where you are

I'm beginning to suspect our love has died
buried way out in the woods, a mile from each road
on nobody's property, nobody's side,
watched over by crows. I could lead them
right straight to it, it's a spot I know
it's where you brought me on that creepy picnic one time -
now I'm led back there each night by a vengeful ghost,
in my dreams, I mean - I know that I would never return
to that scene, like a crime, the guilt, it burns - I sit here
shaking this feeling I'm responsible
for the death of our love, as the blame
sinks in,

'til with click (key) snap (latch) the door creaks in
and you walk right back in, with wicked grin

then your face falls, and
you wrinkle your nose, "ugh!

What is that smell?"