Polar Nettles

He takes his dinner in the bath
Lovesickened and infirm
The orderly found him there
Flayed on the marble stairs
Hat still in hand, his smoking remains
Blown out by a kiss from Nurse Someday Soon
Someday soon
Someday soon
Some way soon

Some, some, some

His eyes are closed he mouths her name
The rosary her lips and tongue
She is the centrifuge that throws
The spires from the sun
The Sistine Chapel
Painted with a Gatling gun
Someday soon
Someday soon
Someday soon

Someday soon
Someday soon

Oh, the nettles set on end
Move like starlings up a cliff
And ten are of a foggy touch
The forcefield round their frosty hairs
Whose shape recalls the wicked spade
That buried him but on his lips
The last rites of Nurse Someday Soon