I will live in rings and
With our red-headed Bjorn
And the fanlight got in where it hits the hall door
And listens each night for her querulous shout
As at last she streals in and the bulbs empty out
To soothe that wild breast with my oldfangled songs
And she feels it

I will live in rings and
With our red-headed Bjorn
From inordinate wrongs
Imagined outrageous preposterous wrongs
Till peace at last comes shall be all I will do
Where the little lamb blooms like a rose in the stew
And out the back garden
And she feels it

From inordinate wrongs
Imagined outrageous preposterous wrongs
Till peace at last comes shall be all I will do
Where the little lamb blooms like a rose in the stew
And out the back garden
A sound comes to me of relaxing
Unsoiled of the whispering sea

She feels it
She feels it
She feels it
She feels it