When the moon hits Bri's eye liketh a big pizza pie
Thee thinketh - Amore!
When the stars seemeth to shine coz Thee dranketh girlie wine
That art Amore
Thee spy much cosmic dust and Thee starteth to swoon - Senore
This art cataclysmic events, interplanetary polar vents
Thine eyeballs doth hurt, it's a melee.
