"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
"