Spin me, dear, into dizziness tonight,
For I desire these circles to forget,
Prefer that banished be their hopeful spite-
Hear them whisper, "What Baltus gives, he'll get!"
Faces dissolve as air tricks my fingers
Into believing my saviour I'll find.
Brom, despite you, some doubt in me lingers-
If I stay here, no doubt I'll lose my mind.
Smiling, I stumble, dance counterclockwise,
For, where the players go, I'll follow not-
Strange, but by their step, I'm driven forward!
There, where the circle breaks, that's where I-
stop.
Ah. "Is it Theodore?" Fain I'd not ask...
"Only a stranger." But fain I'll take that!