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