Of what and such I must not trust
Your wit, your vim and wry replies
I'll quote old jokes to folks from home
So why should I shed light on ice?
On ice
On ice

With cracks of past my grin would growl
And lips of late lay waste instead
Amiss, amok, a muse of sorts
In short, tis' end for Sir Tristan
Tristan
Tristan

Yet bows be still and peace be kept
For known unknowns toss light and lull
In time or tomb I'll write you soon
And trust you're just and jest as well
As well
As well