We are two mariners Our ship's sole survivors In this belly of a whale It's ribs are ceiling beams It's guts are carpeting I guess we have some time
Here on these cliffs of Dover So high you can't see over And while your head is spinning Hold tight, it's just beginning You come from parents wanton
I fell on the playing field the work of an errant heel the din of the crowd and the loud commotion went deafening silence and stopped emotion the season
Here she comes in her palanquin on the back of an elephant on a bed made of linen and sequins and silk all astride on her father's line with the king