My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue. I kiss your funny face, your coffee-flavored mouth. Last night I slept with you. Today I love you so how can I bear to go (as soon I must, I know) to bed with ugly death in that cold, filthy place, to sleep there without you, without the easy breath and nightlong, limblong warmth I've grown accustomed to? —Nobody wants to die; tell me it is a lie! But no, I know it's true. It's just the common case; there's nothing one can do. My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue early and instant blue.