Wait for death of the dire day,
Let it burn down with barreled hay.
Genesis of romance will come.
Dire days and sorrow, be gone.
Commence in joy and sail from pain
Across the bay, ocean, and rain;
Jar a glass with the feelings there
And dry your eyes as you dry hair.
Speak to cut locks and browning roots,
Purchase wardrobe and taller shoes.
Let lust not be a sin, my dear.
Live away pain, but, please, live here.