Summer dance in frolic gold, sing a song for me,

for me, for me

a grass ballet of tine and fold, such beauty unto thee!

To thee, to thee

a heatsome ire ripe and bold, no relief for me,

for me, for me

air conditioner unworking and old, a bitter thought to thee.

To thee, to thee

acquired soon your demise foretold, summer’s end a joy for me,

for me, for me

happy days of autumn’s hold, one more trick owed to thee!

To thee, to thee

winter’s promise of terrible cold, no more heat for me.