I married a prickly pear
Was smitten on the phone
Seemed a great idea
Now I am all stung.

To tend to all your needs
I share a room with nine
Roaches of the night
Skip lunch and seldom dine.

When you’re ready we shall sail
Through doldrums, storms and trash
To islands threatened by the sea
Do I need to bear the rash?

For to give a voice to those
Who’ve been salted and would flee
Must I first endure this pain?
Must I first make out with thee?

Under the scorching sun of Mexico
Or in the heat of your saloon
Muse in disrepair
You make itch even the Moon.

You are meant to be a healer
Yet you fill me with your spine
Fiberglass from Hades
Are you really a Balian?