A carnival, a flesh farewell
Hiessens rising from the, from the dead
Wyman-Elvis! Calls our gurrel
And counts the ash to where, to where he bled

At the first a crimson mist
At the second sleeplessness
At the third a broken tryst
At the fourth a lwonesomeness

Gawly the sweethearts leaves
The soldier's tears
The Riddle river grieves
Wyman-Elvis disappears

Only in a scrid of flesh
Hooked upon the hart's-tongue fern
Only by her own gooseflesh
Knows she somewhen he'll return