Burn me with thy eyelids
Impale me with thy soul
Show me different kingdoms
Were past life lovers old

A circuit to lie upon thy extremity
A salute of ourn own flag
Blowing to ourn entities
Wrapped tight in cellophane bag

A shrine and a vestry
Wherein well make ourn abode
Ourn manor ran by children
For we'll have two or three at most

You'll be the loyal procreator
I'll be thy homage sire
Memoir's of ourn reverance
Lit to antediluvian mire