| I put my back against an oak
|
| Thinking it was some trusty tree
|
| But first it bent and then it broke
|
| And so did my false love, to me
|
| I put my hand into a bush
|
| Thinking some sweetest flower to find
|
| I pricked my finger to the bone
|
| Leaving the sweetest flower behind
|
| Oh, meeting is a pleasure
|
| And parting is a grief
|
| But an unconstant lover is worse than any theif
|
| A thief would all but rob you
|
| And take all that you had saved
|
| But an unconstant lover will bring you to the grave
|
| The grave it will decay you
|
| And turn you into dust
|
| There’s not one in a thousand that you can trust
|
| They’ll kiss you and they’ll court you
|
| And tell to you more lies
|
| As the hairs upon your head laugh
|
| Or the stars in the skies
|
| Come all you young lovers
|
| A warning take by me Don’t place your affection on a green willow tree
|
| For the leaves, they will wither
|
| The branches will decay
|
| And all your poor love will soon fall away
|
| We hung upon a hook, cut me to the bone
|
| Froze me with a kiss, laid upon your throne
|
| In the abattoirs of love |
| In the abattoirs of love
|
| You’re in the serpent’s jaws, love chains you to the floor
|
| Like fools you climbed so high, it’s further then to fall
|
| In the abattoirs of love
|
| Love’s a game for fools, for fools
|
| Love’s a game for fools… |