Come along, I'm almost sinking...
There's a stranger, and he's winking.
Stranger.
That was a fine girl with the grey-hair'd lady,
How shining were her eyes, how true and
steady,
Not drooping down in guilty Mormon fashion,
But shooting at the soul their power and passion.
That's a big fellow, six foot two, not under,
But how he struts, and looks as black as thunder,