Here her head, she lay
Until she'd rise and say :
"I'm starved of mirth;
Let's go and trip a dwarf"

Oh, what to be done with her ?
What to be done with her ?
Oh ...

Ice water for blood
With neither heart or spine
And then just, and then just
To pass time; let us go and rob the blind

What to be done with her ?
Oh, what to ...
What to be said of her ?
Oh ...

But when she calls me, I do not walk, I run
Oh, when she calls, I do not walk, I run
Oh ...
Oh ...

Oh ...

A view of The Smiths in their earliest stage; Morrissey's lyrics still unsure, dour-sounding and self-concious, while Marr cautiously edges his guitar virtuosity in.
Altogether a strange song, I feel that The Smiths were never happy with this song; the lyrics were totally rewritten from an earlier version, and the song notably never appeared on any compilations, along with its sister Jeane.

 Visit Porter studio version of this song

 Visit BBC version of this song

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