| Phrase | Phrase Continued |
| When You're Lying Awake | |
| And Repose is Tabooed by Anxiety | |
| To Indulge in, Without Impropriety | |
| The Bed Clothes Conspire | |
| First Your Counterpane Goes | |
| And Your Sheet Slips Demurely From Under You | |
| You Feel Like Mixed Pickles | |
| | Phrase | Phrase Continued |
| And Your Hot and Your Cross | |
| Till There's Nothing 'Twixt You and the Ticking | |
| And You Pick Them All Up in a Tangle | |
| And Politely Declines to Remain at Its Usual Angle | |
| With Hot Eyeballs and Head Ever Aching | |
| That You Very Much Better Be | |
|