Me and my lover gonna race to the moon
Found a piper and paid for a tune
Little Bo Peep, well, she wears dark glasses
And her shoes are much too big
Hey diddle diddle, she once played the fiddle
Has anyone seen her sheep?
Come on, I’ll race you to the moon
Ring around a rosy tune
Write your prose in rhyme and ruin
Step it out, step it out, it’s over much too soon
Come on, I’ll race you to the moon.
Old woman, can I come with you? Aye, lass, by and by
When your skin is loose and thin, and your hands are cold and dry.
Little Bo Peep, well, she has brass knuckles
The dark is almost day
So wish on a pin that your true love comes in
And make the fiddler pay.
Green grow my new clothes, my shoes are made of shell
Ran away from the workaday to follow a chanting bell.
If I asked you to throw away your shoes, your shades, your fright
Would you dance with me, would you laugh
Would you meet me in the fourth dimension?
I’m playing there every night.
© 2001 Lorraine Garland, Emma Bull, Adam Stemple, Steven Brust