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