You came to me in centipede time,
We danced till our ankles were red.
You vowed a branch, a broth, a breath,
All gathered on your head.
We went to sleep, we woke, we spoke,
You promised not to sit
Upon the edge, against the ledge,
And you offered me your spit.
So don't be weary, don't be sorry,
Don't be, don't be fussed.
Allow me just to think of you
In may instead of must.