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