This melody never staggers, grows old,
this song from an Elvis-bearded age.
It blooms and blushes me more than it should!
Dreams blister like bread, memories burn,
pungent under starblossoms and
moonfruit. My struck tongues rave:
no lie, Horatio, this is where it’s at.
All you fractious muses, bustle me close,
fiddle me measures to boast of.
Shove me suavely into another day.