|
I know what she said |
|
And the witch heard what she said to |
|
"Hold the fucking waters |
|
And freeze the burning waters |
|
But don't dry your clothes |
|
The woodcutter is dead |
|
And his girls cut instead |
|
His ghost is seen in trees |
|
And he put his love in tarry knees |
|
Born between walls |
|
Don't hold my body in pitch |
|
My body is BORN ALL DAY LONG |
|
Bastards born in pitch lost, |
|
Lost, through allocations |
|
Correcting the king |
|
The trees their limbs in the wind they swing |
|
What portents do they bring |
|
Hobos and songs they sing, |
|
"We Eat Stones!" |
|
Encapsulate the body |
|
And emasculate the body |
|
And hold the burning waters |
|
The tubs of burning waters |
|
Holiday! |
|
The trees are bones and |
|
Dipped in wax and burning cones |
|
And call a celebration |
|
The master's burnt in his burning station: |
|
WE ARE THE STOVES! |
|
The maid, |
|
The fox, |
|
The children, |
|
The locks |
|
And the same wretched song |
|
Everybody sings |
|
The woodcutter is heard to sing; |
|
Bodies born to ding |
|
So hold my body and ding my body and |
|
I heard what she said and |
|
I know what she said |
|
"I said it, |
|
I said it, |
|
I said it, |
|
I said it," |
|
I heard what she said and |
|
I know what she said |
|
"I said it, |
|
I said it, |
|
I said it, |
|
I said it," |
|
Baby's got a cold, |
|
And the crying's getting old |
|
The same wretched song |
|
Clean up the bamboo |
|
And save the world too |
|
The same wretched song |
|
The Same wretched song |
|
Oh the same wretched song |
