Whenever shall we meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
My fairest love, my foulest sin,
I cannot abide with you therin.

Fair is foul, yet foul is fair,
I run from smog and filthy air
This feeling filling me with care,
Worry, strangling. Lives of dares.

When is the hurly-burly done?
When is the battle lost or won
A soldiers love, a soldiers son.
And so I'll wait for you, anon.

Ah, Macbeth! Macbeth you feind!
For what has happened in-between
The witches from some other scene
And all the while the dreamers dream.

He held me in his perfect grip
I kissed each of those fingertips
And sleeping there I let it slip,
Into that open-seamed rip.