Away With Worry: Dying For Romance
Angela Black tells of the fate of a Casanova.
He led me up a mountain
And lost me in a fog
He tripped across the moors
And left me in a bog
He beckoned me to follow
Within a mossy glade
I swooned among the daisies
He vanished in the shade
I saw his white flesh gleaming
As he splashed among the streams
He came and laid beside me
And kissed me - in my dreams
At night I heard him singing
In a moon-lapped dale
I listened and I waited
It was only a nightingale
He led me up from Hades
Playing on his lutes
Maliciously looked round to grin
And said "Good bye Toots''
One day he said "Hey Popsy
Making love - it would be nice''
Then he took me to the North Pole
And left me on the ice
He led me up the garden
He was careful not to slip
He dodged around the summer house
And left me on the tip
On a haywain hot and fragrant
I lay panting by his side
For at last he said he'd take me
And he took me for a ride
And now on a bed of roses
Drugged, delerious, in a trance
He so tenderly whispers
"You're dying for romance''
And while I smile so sweetly
I know this is his last dance
These flowers are sprayed with poison
He hasn't got a chance
