When I am an old aunt,
>> And the wicked man is sure,
>> In the nightmarish lowered socks,
>> It’s also a little bit overwhelming.
>> When I walk I will be with a stick,
>> Chest your crooked nose,
>> With an old coloured washer,
>> On the head instead of the hair,
>> I’m going to be in a hurry.
>> by the irony of fate,
>> My long-awaited prince of fool,
>> My genius of pure beauty,
>> Just look at me in the middle of the eye,
>> And the love dust will disappear,
>> I ask him: "Now!
>> I have to say! Where have you been before?