Florence Nightingale
Come help me Florence Nightingale
I need your healing hands
I need your guiding lamp my lady
Meet my one demand
The people, oh they told me
That I’ll never be the man
If I don’t bow down to their decree
Then “Cursed by God, I am!”
Come be my saviour, Nightingale
To you I shall implore
There’s a righteous group of Christian Soldiers
Lurching on the floor
So help me if you find me
Locked behind the cellar door
And there I’ll rest like Edgar’s Raven
There, forever more
So wherefor art thou Nightingale?
If quoting Will I must
My visions of you on a steed
With lamp in hand I trust
And golden lace and silver trace
And diamond jewels incrust
But visions never saved a soul
For souls are all but rust
For now the feathered Nightingale
Can sing for me a song
The sweetest bird I ever heard
Has been here all along
For the Lady with the Lamp and healing hands
Could do no wrong
But I know that in my mind she stays
And that’s where she belongs
Still I whisper, dear Florence
Sing for me a song...
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