Yes, the story is over but it was suggested to me that Jackson have one last song during the credits where somehow he can sing well again. After my school's production of My Fair Lady I decided to use the song "I've grown accustomed to her face." Remember: I don't own Red Eye or any of the songs I've used!

Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!
I've grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune that
She whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before I saw her;

Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to her look;
Accustomed to her voice;
Accustomed to her face.

Stab me! What an infantile idea. What a heartless,
wicked, brainless thing to do. But she'll regret, she'll
regret it. The act should have been doomed to fail

And yet she managed to do it

She stabbed me and saved the day

I lost my fact driven way

And she won our little game

She's learned from what I've taught her,
and only got stronger

I underestimated her weak alto
and now I lost a job
yet it still puzzles me

That for all the time I followed her

She still managed to shock me!
I discovered her will, her secret
Poor Lisa. How simply frightful!
How humiliating! How delightful!
But surely these new events have put a strain on her

We have a strange relationship you know

And if we ever meet again
Miserable and lonely, repentant and contrite.
Will I take her in or hurl her to the walls?
Give her kindness or the treatment she deserves?
Will I take her back or throw the baggage out?

But I'm a most forgiving man;
The sort who never could, ever would,
Take a position and staunchly never budge.
A most forgiving man.
But, I shall never take her back,
If she were even crawling on her knees.
Let her promise to atone;
Let her shiver, let her moan;
I'll slam the door and let the hell-cat freeze!

But I'm so used to

Stalking her ev'ry day.
Her joys, her woes,
Her highs, her lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful she's a woman
And so easy to forget;
Rather like a habit
One can always break-
And yet,

I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;
Accustomed to her face.