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 thenWhat 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

I won't leave a stitchin' behindOh, 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 years you will spend getting sadder and older, oh love

And the cold beyond the rainfall