Do not wait for me, beloved
on the other side of this verse
where the sun is presumed
to dissolve at eve
as a passionate lover
into the waiting arms
of the deep blue seas,
expecting me to turn
water into wine,
to resurrect the dry bones of
a love long dead beyond redemption!
No, move on, Chéri
for the butterflies have
long departed for elsewhere
leaving each lovebird to its fate,
like the cukoo bird it's young.
All that's left now are
nostalgic memories of the past
All that's left now are beggarly dreams
farfetched at deep high sea.