hey fiddle fiddle—
sing me a song, dear
(spinning round round in the shade of the hills)
oh the wood is so heavy, and my arms are so light—
dance, the music won't go all night

and we lay on our stomachs, writhe through the dirt
the grass so so soft hitching up through my skirts
you've got a fine face, girl
eyes men would die for
but you're one of those creatures too precious to hurt

and it's cold beneath my hands it's warm beneath my heart—
with our bodies encircled on the bitter ground
i want proper war promises you'll never detract on
i want a tin with your face on it,
i want to wave you off right—
my handkerchief dancing in the fading sun—
your finely pressed suit and your confederate gun.