Oh, my dear, I can tell you things
Oh, dear, Can I lie in your bosom
And tell you things not for maiden’s ears
But tell the tale of whispered fears, my dear?

Oh sir, don’t languish here selling your wares
Oh, my dear sir don’t sell me hear telling me words
For the stories I have heard can send you running astray
And my bosom sir is for the boys who haven’t a way

I can see through the likes of you and your charade
Here in this beat down lonely old pub
Where two pints down needs two pints pay
So if you plan to stay and keep your pints, then pay

Oh dear, dear, haven’t you heard the forest call your name
The wind carries “Lizzie” to this pub and other manor
It rides on the wind, “Lizzzz…eeee…” can you hear the name?
But sir, how did you know it carried to me my name?

I am the wind and the trees and I say, “Lizzzz…eeee…”
And with that he was gone as the door slammed shut
And Lizzie new she had been visited by no less than Grim
The reaper came and called her name and Lizzie followed him