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From "Folksinger's Wordbook" (Oak Publications)
 
 The Frozen Logger
 
 As I sat down one evening
 winthin a small cafe,
 A 40 year-old waitres to me
 these words did say:
 
 "I see that you are a logger and not
 just a common bum.
 'Cause nobody but a logger stirs his
 coffee with his thumb.
 
 My lover, he was a logger, there's
 none like hi today,
 Well, if you'd pour whiskey on him,
 well, he'd eat a bale of hay.
 
 Well he never used a razor to
 shave his horny hide,
 He'd just drive them in with a hammer,
 then he bit them off inside.
 
 My lover he came to see me, 'twas
 on a freezing day,
 He held me in a fond embrace that
 broke three vertebrae.
 
 Well, he kissed me when we parted
 so hard that he broke my jaw,
 And I could not speak to tell him
 he forgot his mackinaw.
 
 I saw ny lover leaving, a-sauntering
 through the snow,
 While oging grimly homeward at
 forty-eight below.
 
 Well, the weather it tried to freeze him,
 it tried its level best,
 At a hundred degrees below zero,
 why he buttoned up his vest.
 
 It froze clear through to China;
 and it froze to the stars above,
 And at a thousand degrees below zero,
 it froze my logger love.
 
 And so I lost my lover, and to this
 cafe i come,
 And here I wait till someone stirs
 his coffee with his thumb."
 
 *-words and music by James Stevens-*
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