God speed all the bakers at dawn

May they all cut their thumbs

And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away

I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find

Without a trust or flaming fields am I too dumb to refine?

And if you'd 'a took to me like, well

I'd a-danced like the queen of the eyesores

And the rest of our lives would have fared well