A measure of satisfaction, and Saturday we danced
two lies, we dine a just candle, coils in smoke
the party's over, little lover, don't you know ? How good: as gold
Tit for tat, yet a symphony sides, against your virtues
for a token, of affliction, nor affection. Cloudy is the night
and snow covers, us, as lepers. Even the dogs die, in asmuch
as desired, dance away, away and again, dance.