Cliquot

A plague in the workhouse A plague on the poor now I feed on my drum 'til I'm dead Yesterday fever Tomorrow St. Peter I'll feed on my drum until then What melody will lead my lover from his bed What melody will see him in my arms again Set fire the foundation And burn out the station You'll never get nothing of mine The pane of my window Will flicker and glimmer Leave only the stitching behind Oh what melody will lead my lover from his bed What melody will see him in my arms again I'll sing of the walls of the well And the house at the top of the hill I'll sing of the bottles of wine That we left on our old windowsill I'll sing of the usual spin Getting sadder and older oh love