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4
what's o'clock
No flute man this, to sigh at a lady's elbow.
This is a trumpet fellow, proper for jousting or battle,
Mary Madonna,
To hack an enemy to pieces, and scale his castle wall.
O Mary, Mary,
A point for piercing, an edge for shearing, a weight for pounding, a voice for thundering,
And a fan-gleam light to shine down little alleys
Where twisted houses make a jest of day.
This is a trumpet fellow, proper for jousting or battle,
Mary Madonna,
To hack an enemy to pieces, and scale his castle wall.
O Mary, Mary,
A point for piercing, an edge for shearing, a weight for pounding, a voice for thundering,
And a fan-gleam light to shine down little alleys
Where twisted houses make a jest of day.
There are dead men in his hand,
Mary Madonna,
And sighing women out beyond his thinking.
O Mary, Mary,
He will not linger here or anywhere.
He will go about his business with an ineradicable complaisance,
Leaving his dead to rot, his women to weep and regret,
Mary Madonna,
And sighing women out beyond his thinking.
O Mary, Mary,
He will not linger here or anywhere.
He will go about his business with an ineradicable complaisance,
Leaving his dead to rot, his women to weep and regret,
