Here her head, she lay
Until she’d rise and say :
I’m starved of mirth;
Let’s go and trip a dwarf
Oh, what to be done with her ?
What to be done with her ?
Oh ...
Ice water for blood
With neither heart or spine
And then just, and then just
To pass time; let us go and rob the blind
What to be done with her ?
Oh, what to ...
What to be said of her ?
Oh ...
But when she calls me, I do not walk, I run
Oh, when she calls, I do not walk, I run
Oh ...
Oh ...
Oh ... |
