Tu–whit tu–whoo, by an owl calling, into his trap to be caught.
My pledge of brotherhood with him, breaking off, the morning has come.
In the cockpit, to him in loveless, a diaper to leave.
To cross the moor, hem of her dress in scarlet, drugging behind her.
Of her dash and sprit, for firing up, finally I'm awake. Or, by brave my mom friend, blasting with dynamites, strikingly sounds we hear.