Little Arabella

(album: Ars Longa Vita Brevis - 1968)

Little Arabella, she's always out of her head, out of her head
She lives in a daydream, she never understands what she said, what she said
She carries a flower, long after everyone said it's dead
And if you see her, you'll never believe her head

Little Arabella, she giggles away into bed
A skirt around her ankles, smoke coming out of her head
She wakes in the morning, looks and there's nobody in her bed
And if you meet her, you'll never believe her head

Talks in riddles, talks in rhymes
She reads the stars and looks for signs
She is a problem of the times
I'm rather glad she isn't mine

Little Arabella, she giggles away into bed
A skirt around her ankles, smoke coming out of her head
She wakes in the morning, looks and there's nobody to be found
And if you meet her, you're sure to be her next ground

Arabella, that's Arabella
Arabella out of her head
Arabella out of her head
Arabella out of her head
Arabella out of her head
Have you ever met a bird quite like little Arabella?
Course you have, she's sitting right next to you