Amsterdam 1740

It's so cold that the ink is freezing in my pen as I write
It's called little ice age
And there's nothing to keep us warm at night
Tha people are riding horse-drawn sleighs on the frozen canals
And the poor sccumb in this city's barren

We sang like nightingales
And the committe lined their pockets
The women plied to their trade
And all the weak drank well
To travelers they sell holy rewards
For just a few humble coins

A hundred horses couldn't break it
and there is still nothing to quench our thirst
The water's brought from far away
because the ice that we got here's cursed
Come join us banished wanderers
We know that co-operation is first
We'll look down, when they come around
When they take our neighbours we'll let them be taken

We sang like nightingales
And the committe lined their pockets
The women plied to their trade
And all the weak drank well
To travelers they sell holy rewards
For just a few humble coins

The hunger of a heartless war
will make us desperate enough to sell our souls
And most of us will obey the invaders
while Resistance hides in the holes
And later Liberators find the women lusting for their treats
The big freeze of my century
Trillions of lost souls curled up in dark holes

We sang like nightingales
And the committe lined their pockets
The women plied to their trade
And all the weak drank well
To travelers they sell holy rewards
For just a few humble coins