You were a witch with your short hair      The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home      Staked out in the oaks   In the form of little brothers from down below      The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home      Tumbling down the hill   Our faces dirty with warpaint      And all of Jerusalem is sleeping in our front yard      Please be able only to see the legs in front of us      We went through the carpentry   Having stolen parts of buildings   Shouting for you to slap the songs on your knees      Are we as bandits with orange peels over our eyes?      You were a witch with your short hair      The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home      Tumbling down the hill   Our faces dirty with warpaint      These are the tools that take the marrow from your bones