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She is there, she is there in the larder, |
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preserved for all time for his ardour, |
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she's been dead sixteen months in September, |
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since they burned her coffin to an ember. |
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well, he loved her too much to let her die with the flames |
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now he comes home each eve and she's always the same, |
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well not quite, the flesh is decaying, |
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and the smell stops friends from staying, |
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he kissed her goodbye, she let out a cry |
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now the body remains as she died. |
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and, he loved her too much to let her die with the flames, |
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he comes home each evening and she's always the same, |
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he got a book on embalming and he found it simply quite charming, |
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she is there, she is there in the larder, preserved for all time for his ardour |
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she is there, she is there in the larder |
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(repeated 8 times) |
