soft night comes slowly on your window sill
and on mine and I know that it's time
put on my boots and my coats and my rings
as I order a carriage for nine
pumpkins don't change any more
so I walk round the block
with some glass in my hand
for you to try on so you'll come out with me
to the ball at the rusty bandstand

every day watching a girl who's a Princess
is tough for a man don't you see?
could be a slopsong if written by any
Prince Charming excepting by me
wind blows up and down the road with the gust
and the dust that is making a hill
as curlers in hair and a f__ in her mouth
she comes home each day from the mill

j__anese millgirls strike flutters in hearts
that are beating beneath yellow b______
North Country millgirls put passion in miners
with heavy black hair on their chests
were I a miner all filled with desire
lying down I'd go mining for gold
being as me as I am and will be
her three inch high heels turn me cold

I'll send her a bunch of pink plastic of roses
whose scent with soap fumes fills the air
I'll talk of the waves, of the rollers
that laquer has set in her peroxide hair
I'll sing of the weals, of the bobbins, the calouses
rubbed in her delicate hand
and Satanic mills that like churches have filled
this pit-covered part of the land . . .

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