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 ?

Oh, what to be done with her ?

Oh ...



Ice water for blood

With neither heart or spine

And then just

To pass time; let us go and rob the blind



What to be done with her ?

I ask myself :

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