The lid is rising on the kettle's song,Likewise my energy wastes itself in air,Don't call me when the tea's made, I'll be gone.
I left my true self with your vulgar throngNow drawn and quartered, they arraign me with stare,The lid is rising on the kettle's song.
To have believed in you, and not in longSpeeches of your drab affair-Don't call me when the tea's made, I'll be gone.
No one pushed me, but I see that I was wrong,I've said it all, but I won't bow, so there!The lid is rising on the kettle's song.
I should have known it, and the bells can bongEach Sunday of the year without our heir,Don't call me for the christening, I'll be gone
I did without a wedding, honeymoon, even the pongOf babies, so there's no joy for us to share-The lid is hopping on the kettle's song-Don't call me. When the tea's made, I'll be gone.
