The way I feel sometimes:

On the day

when the sun explodes

and the beaches all turn to glass,

and the eggs scramble themselves inside the hens,

I won't say I love you.

On the day

when the sun explodes

and the sky-lab disintegrates in space,

and all the corn, anywhere, pops at once,

I won't say anything at all.

I'll probably just sit at home

and melt to the mattress on my floor.