I am looking for the grave of Sindbad too. Jack Cade, John Brown, Jesse James, There too I could sit down and stop for a while. Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. Roses are red. Violets are blue.
Sugar is sweet.
But not as sweet as you. It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It well may be. I do not think I would. For auld lang syne.