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