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 ...