As whisker-twister pauses, tho’ journey lingers on,
Sniveling and sneaking as he darts in shadows long,
And the Gallic peace; tranquility.
No food, nor sleep, no drink and no refuge, found anywhere in France,
Nowhere to run save forests, upon which he’s forced to take a chance,
And the Gallic peace; tranquility.
Scampering in shadows, with the hunter’s distance being closed,
Rodent Ambiorix, -little mouse, is paused and panting in repose,
And the Gallic peace; tranquility.
Frightened little mouse, run, yes run away,
Frightened little mouse you’ve come to rue that day,
For frightened little mouse, -Caesar’s on his way!
And the Gallic peace; tranquility. *