You were a witch with your short hair
The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home
Staked out in the oaks
In the form of little brothers from down below
The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home
Tumbling down the hill
Our faces dirty with warpaint
And all of Jerusalem is sleeping in our front yard
Please be able only to see the legs in front of us
We went through the carpentry
Having stolen parts of buildings
Shouting for you to slap the songs on your knees
Are we as bandits with orange peels over our eyes?
You were a witch with your short hair
The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home
Tumbling down the hill
Our faces dirty with warpaint
These are the tools that take the marrow from your bones