You woke up in the middle of a hot summer night to say:
It's a nightmare and all the poets are dead
The earth had been scorched by the sun
and the last love poem was burnt
How does one sleep tonight?
Knowing that nothing's going to be alright?
No one would believe in love at first sight
There'll be no parley
when lover's fight
Not a man would be loyal to his wife
Women marry rich
and wait for their husbands to die
We spend the night discussing Earth's plight
You tell me about your new shoes
And their nasty bite
We play chess and get into a fight
You try to protest when I take your queen
With my knight.
At the scarlet blush of sunlight
I make coffee; we're both tired
If by noon, all the poets die
We'll sing a lullaby
Say our goodbyes
If the poems are all burnt
And that's making you concerned
Hey Bailey
We'll sit right here
and write a new one
