Anyhow, we do not complain
And we do not heal, n'est-ce pas?
And vowing to have myself as you desire me,
my dear, for choice and for pleasure,
from habits of mind, after all
from good habits and bladder habits
for we know how to cope and when to weep
what with the way we keep weeping,
and how to cope with a fact of mind;
For us, the sore will not heal
"it won't be easy and can't be a pleasure"
and a machine contains us
that can no longer keep in mind
from the mean of the mind, to keep
me from mind, and up to the throat
(that is, to mind myself, do you mean?);
the word is "keep out"
And it seems to change.
Eyes of the soul and eyes of the mind,
last laughter and the last dance,
at last, a word with you
at last a word with the machine
I'll have a word for every fact
(but you must remember all of it)
then, at last, the laughter of a moron.