And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

A highwayman comes riding-

Riding-riding-

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,

And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

I wonder if anyone's ever gonna read this...

including the judges

 

Nope.

 

Nobody.

 

...

 

*tumbleweed*

Yes, my love, oh we, are magicians, you and I

And soon, you'll see, that the cloud shapes in our eyes are blind,

but fly, forever just the same

Oh you -- you've been sleeping in the rough

 

A traveling man took you by the hand

 

 

And still I wonder

Why dear -- you've a pocket full of snuff

A meek and mild rag-time child who sometimes wonders

Why the crowds all stare,

Mrs Porter's crying "Keep that kid away from my bear"

I've got 10 bob on that on and I'll not be having no mad-arsed kid do me wrong

And suddenly the curtain falls

Oh it -- it may well hap' to be

That there's magic wed in ragged threads

That you sleep under

To find -- there's comfort in the melody

Too mild and meek for rag-time chic

And still I wonder

Why the crowds all stare,

Mrs Porter's crying "Keep that kid away from my bear"

I've got 10 bob on that on and I'll not be having no mad-arsed kid do me wrong

And suddenly the curtain falls