Go on, and draw those Roman shades;
it’s not the sun you owe in spades,
but the moon. She does come tonight,
so see that those shades are pulled tight–
Roman shades for blocking the sun,
but the moon? Oh, this will be fun!
An oath to the white you did make,
and sanity the white will take–
the great white moon, Queen Satellite.
Roman shades, no match for this fight;
You stupid man, she’s a phantom–
your old love you cannot hide from.
No fair, it was not your design;
she’s the one who broke her word. Fine.
But you’re the asshole who believed.