A regards to the singlular Chaos, But life dwelling is not a Trek alone:
I forecast order in a feminine Touch that clouds the menacing Aloness, That order feminine Which will throw away old Things lukewarm in my Memory, The old cup that barely bears The insignia of my team, An order feminine which will Prearrange all the chaos And let me fill it's orders, A space all my own, A dusty garage And all the feminine order Will not follow me there, But direct like a good woman Does pushing behind every man.
An oder feminine like the sweet Smelling home she scents As with everything she touches, The chaos will never truly Die, It will slumber and awaken a few times a week, An occasional game and fire and meat, And filling in the time Between the spaces, An order feminine Diguises a brute and differs Into a man.