'Neath the hill by A tavern keen
A lad walks by in A shirt bright green
'Has she given in?' He asks the tavern wench
'No, young lad. She'd gone mad over to have been - french.-'

'Can you imagine how the swallows fly,
through this imaginable blue, lavender and pink sky?
She won't give in 'till the day I'll die.'

He nods his head, reaches out foor A beer
the tavern wench sometimes has the power off A seer.
Nick is sometimes named 'Grumpy.' by the look on his young face.
He withhelds passion and love, for A warrioress out off grace.

'I guess I have pretended too much, I think true love I might have found
And A marriage safe and sound.'
As he drinks his fresh, cold beer
'But now I'm lonely, travelling the world by myself- Say, you are sure Myreadme is not queer?'
'No, she is into men like you...
If she only would not have been to her side so true.'

Nick brushes A strand off long brown hair out off his bearded face,
'Luckily she's not someone easy to trace.'
He grins and drinks out his pint.
'As I would commit and ask to marry Myreadme as soon as I'd find.'