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

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