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