Oh, you foolish ***** within my chest,
- you hardly pump adequate blood through me
- an' should I rise too quick: I'll fall t'wards me' feet;
- upon an ole' wooden floor: I'll make my nest.
Yay- tis' where I'll take a brief, uninvited rest!

What - then, heart, makes you dream o' bliss an' glee
- which all seem to revolve round' that fairy
-- the one with the gems on her fingers an' neck?

Oh- you silly an' foolish heart, you,
- you know you could end up a shade o' navy.
Oh- but she makes you sing jingles so merrily
- when you witness such a beautiful view!
Oh- you know you may be hurt, greatly,
- but - even still - you dream on carelessly.