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 ? 
Oh ... 


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 ? 
Oh ... 


But when she calls me, I do not walk, I run 
Oh, when she calls, I do not walk, I run 
Oh ... 
Oh ... 


Oh ...