(after Horace Ode 1.38 Persicos odi)
What’s with all this fancy talk m’dear?
Stuff your silver words they leave me cold.
I don’t need measured lines, well-formed and folded,
or accents buffed until they all but shine.
For goodness sake stop fussing over lyrics;
admittedly exotic lyrics suit you
and me as well, but still I think we two
should make sweet music, have ourselves a break.