This book is sacred to me
I write what I please
For no other creatures to see
Dark and wild
Left the Earth too early

A bad inn and a dirty bed
They give us milk and sour bread
A wet, ungenial summer and incessant rain
I've got a cold in my head

We take the train to the lake
Some crooked feet and sore
We handle babies and breasts
Wait for our troubles to go

A golden fountain of tears
Mysterious fears
To quicken the beating that I hear
History
Swift and beauty
I'll be a good girl above all this miserable country

Some crooked feet and sore
We handle babies and breasts
Wait for our troubles to go
Wait for our troubles to go

We take the train to the lake
Some crooked feet and sore
We handle babies and breasts
Wait for our troubles to go
We take the train to the lake
Some crooked feet and sore
We handle babies and breasts
Wait for our troubles to go
Wait for our troubles to go