Lying on the couch  I said, "I am fed up.
The room echoes jazz and draws
The picture of the noon.
I step out; the drab screech overflows,
With the shallow crush.
I beat a retreat; i chant.
Alas! The jingles playdown my beads."

She retorts, "bunkum, only bunkum.
They are rugged and rusted.
You are the fly in our cake.
How can we breathe easily?
What blessings can we get?
It is invidious nowadays,
Only annihilation on the hills!
Look at the new ones, how amazing!
Go on; i have to attend the ball."