Song of the Windows.

Sad is the song that we sing you, woeful the tale that we tell;
Hark to the story we bring you, mark you our misery well.
Cold are the rains that bedew us, savage the winds that are dashed,
Many strange faces look through us, few are the times that we're washed.
page 63 And we're shakin', shakin', shakin', and our hearts are slowly breakin',
And we haven't any rest by day or night;
And the wind against us crashes, and we're shiverin' in our sashes,
For they haven't made the bloomin' things near tight.