Shepherd's carol

O lift your little pinkie, and touch the winter sky.

Love's all over the mountains

where the beautiful go to die.

If Time were the wicked sheriff in a horse opera,

I'd pay for riding lessons

and take his gun away. O lift...

If I were a Valentino, and Fortune were abroad,

I'd hypnotise that iceberg

till she kissed me of her own accord.

If I'd stacked up the velvet

and my crooked rib were dead,

I'd be breeding white canaries

and eating crackers in bed.

But my cuffs are soiled and fraying.

The kitchen clock is slow,

and over the Blue Waters

the grass grew long ago.