The sun sets out across the skies. He loses his way, to the forge he flies.
Kuttenburg is far far away, Kuttenberg is far here I'll stay.
My breath is short, my feet are sore. I'd buy a horse, but I am poor.
The sun may burn. the sun may shine, but you'll not wither, darling mine.
And then he heated it again.
The sun he hides behind a cloud, his heart goes cold and his fire goes out.
He drowned the fish, and broke its neck, threw it down upon the deck.
Fry your fish. the fish head's best, fishy thighs and fishy breast. |