I fell ill one day with

December in my lungs;

That sort of pain that

Doesn't hurt at all.

That sort of pain you

Wish to feel, just so

You know you're still

Actually alive.

And when Spring came,

And I was still cold,

You told me I was dead.

I tied to protest, tried

To show you there was still

Movement in my veins,

But you said,

'Keep your mouth shut.

Baby, you'll catch flies.'