Movement in the window up above,
a shadow of two people,
arguing and gesticulating violently,
oh, the slings and the arrows of misfortune,
that plays upon the heartstrings,
when the devil comes to play with love,
oh, what a commotion up above,
what a commotion through the partly open window,
as two lovers argue backwards and forwards,
across the room,
and I watch from across the street,
as I smoke my cigarette and the snowflakes fall,
and my breath it rises, and it cools,
as their tempers flare and they are not cool at all,
and oh, how they dance to each other’s tune,
and so animatedly and tempestuously,
as I stand in the cold air,
and I take it all in and the nicotine it does no good for me,
and there is shouting,
and ranting and raging,
and the argument it is vicious, but it is a short-lived tragedy,
and a rapprochement,
and kisses,
as my cigarette smoke it rises high into the heavenly skies,
and the stars they shine down so bright,
and there is peace once more,
and the neighbours I am sure are relieved,
to hear the ending,
of the shattering sounds of their argument,
that so rudely shook the night.
