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