“Hobble, hobble, hobble, On my lime-tree leg, On my birchen crutch! The water's asleep, And the earth's asleep, The whole village is asleep, Only one woman's awake, And she's boiling my flesh, Sitting on my skin, And spinning my wool!”
Mazurka Marchecompartió una citahace 4 años
And Bruin went into the house, and saw there was no one there. So he took his bit of skin, got his flesh out of the pot and made off.
Mazurka Marchecompartió una citahace 4 años
And the peasant's wife got very frightened, and hid as quick as she could in the cellar under the floor.