There is no life in them that dares not try
To find a way, a light, an alibi.
Unable to wait, nor can they sit still.
Tormented by their cheaply made thrill.
Oh, Lord, now if only their wings would fly
We would hear an antagonistic quill
Scribbling under an open window sill.
Subtle, shy, have no place here to try
And populate the date with civil girls, a guy;
With men and women too, who knew just what
To do, why bother with the score, ten-hut.
Both dew and you are wet and you're frisky too.
As suddenly the shrew turning in the screw
Came upon a place seated nice and still.
(My Fair Lady)