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? 



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? 



But when she calls me, I do not walk, I run 

Oh, when she calls, I do not walk, I run