I have nothing more to teach you
For you have little more to learn.
All that's left to tell you, dear
Is cotton torn to burn.

Don't fix your jump on raucous bones,
For listening is done
With eager ears and cagéd breath
Without a thought for fun,

Without a thought for interest,
Without a thought for care,
I leave you lonely, such it is
To leave you dancing there;

And though your shouts shall echo on
I shall fade like paper
And though your ink on my skin scalds
You're still all I paid for.