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Here he comes right to your house |
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not through door, right through the wall. |
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He's a nomad and intruder |
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Spilling merry on your floor |
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What will now happen? |
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Well it already did! |
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And the table right in the middle |
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It got almighty flipped |
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Is it voice of the eternal? |
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Is it hand of the unseen? |
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came as nomad and intruder |
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with a pair of wooden sticks |
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And said, "Hey brothers |
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How is it napping on wagon full of hay? |
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Don't mind me, I'll be just a-startin' |
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Here fire in old-fashioned way" |
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We'll be starting starting fire |
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in an old fashioned way |
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With ain't no nothin' |
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Just take it all away |
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With two wood sticks and some hay |
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Well, I'll be leaving now, my friends |
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following the Springs |
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you can usually profound me |
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in between of my wings . . . |
