Pour Prendre Conge

I'm sick of embarking in dories Upon an emotional sea. I'm wearied of playing Dolores (A role never written for me). I'll never again like a cub lick My wounds while I squeal at the hurt. No more I'll go walking in public, My heart hanging out of my shirt. I'm tired of entwining me garlands Of weather-worn hemlock and bay. I'm over my longing for far lands- I wouldn't give that for Cathay. I'm through with performing the ballet Of love unrequited and told. Euterpe, I tender you vale; Good-by, and take care of that cold. I'm done with this burning and giving And reeling the rhymes of my woes. And how I'll be making my living, The Lord in His mystery knows.