Pull out the bunting. She made then one by one. Hang'em in the trees. Until a breeze it comes. Move to the country. The town has told its tale. When the sutumn leaves. They fall. And the whole place didn't look the same that night. They put a party on and waited for the sunlight to recall. All the days a ticking gone. Bye baby bunting. All England wants you home. Away in the hills. Where the wild things. They roam. So I'll never know why. She made then one by one. Hanging in the trees. 'Till a breeze its comes