The raindrops on the window-pane
Pitter-patter spell out her name
Hush - hush blows the wind
As your mind wanders from Idaho to the Ind :
The mountains, the greens and the oceans beyond,
Hand in hand with the blonde
Who inflicts torture so sweet
On your soul, solely hers,
That you silently pray she continue.
And when she locks her lips with yours,
The warm nectar pours
Down your veins,
Allaying your doubts and apprehensions,
Adding a purpose to the John-Doe-life
That you measure out every morn.
And you feel redeemed.