"Little Time"

I’ve got so little time left to tell my story

Only I can tell it the way it’s meant to be sung.

Who cares if it makes sense?

Leave that to the aliens and scholars.

A man came by on Sunday to ask if he could bring his son over for tea.

It’s my own house, thank you very much,

And I threw him out for the storm.

Around May a lady asked me to travel to Paris--why?

I presumed her to be a beast

And fed her to my wolves.

In a dark winter cave where I met with Isolation,

A witch came by, weary on her travels,

And offered me stew.

I ate and ate and ate and ate and ate and ate and ate and

When my lungs could hold no

More, I opened my heart instead.

She took her home there and wherever she goes, my heart goes with her.

How can it sustain her spells?

The secret’s in the tomes.

Quickened pace around the garden fills the jars by never my eyes

And so the roses have taken over my lungs.