Where every day's a holiday,
Because you're married to me.
Not like a ballroom -
A small room, a hall room,
Where I can smoke my pipe away,
With your wee head upon my knee.
We'll thrive on, keep alive on -
Just nothing but kisses
With Mister and Missus
On little blue chairs.
You sew your trousseau,
And Robinson Crusoe
Is not so far from worldly cares
As our blue room far away upstairs.
