| Lyrics |
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, and then just
To pass time; let us go and rob the blind
What to be done with her ?
Ask yourself...
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 ...
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