Turn, turn, good wooden horses, Turn a hundred turns, turn a thousand turns, Turn often and turn forever, Turn, turn to the sound of oboes. The big soldier, the fattest woman, Are on your backs as if in their beds; They say infinite things, And what their hearts laughingly demand. Turn, turn, horses of their dreams, As long as the sun above loves you! Turn to the sound of the horn and the drum! Turn, turn! The sky is drunk with it! Turn, turn! Love is delivered there! On the merry-go-round, we make a single turn... Turn, turn, good wooden horses, While around all your tournaments The eye of the thief flashes, stealing What you hide in your hair; Turn, turn! And be happy, Wooden horses, symbolic horses!
