Rolling like a sack of bread
My light
My life
My own queen's head
Ever starry
Never dear
Not nearly dead
My own queen's head

Give her credit when she calls
Provide Bordeaux and cotton balls
She'll listen to your sighs and say
A smile of fortune from our queen
Her body warm and frazzled
No current address known
Her golden hair unraveled
Await one precious stone

Each moment breeds distraction
There's dead man's curve ahead
Above the least attraction
The curls of my queen's head

She rambles when she ramble must
Her fame is sorrowing
Gasping
From East to West
From dawn to dusk
From Kent below to Pluto's moons

I wonder where she rides tonight
I miss her love with wide-eyed might
I wish, I wish to hold her tight aright
Her starry servant
I see this night

Of seven wonders, none so dear
And never doubt my own queen's head