|
Take her to the river |
|
Call her a river-child |
|
Take her to the forest |
|
Call her a little wild |
|
Sell her to the gypsy |
|
For a jar of metal coins |
|
Take her to the mountain |
|
And thrust yourself |
|
Into her loins |
|
Calico |
|
Calico |
|
Calico |
|
Her lips are white as snow |
|
She moved to the mountains |
|
With a box all chiseled sharp |
|
She moved to the highlands |
|
With a box of books all dark |
|
I knew her in the city |
|
She and I would dance the night |
|
Drink the wine of dripping berries |
|
Toss the moon and count the lights |
|
Calico |
|
Calico |
|
Calico |
|
Her skin is soft as snow |
|
Take her to the river |
|
Call her a river-child |
|
Take her to the forest |
|
Call her a little wild |
