Baby, the sea air is going to do you better and good,
Don’t remember in darkness about anything else.
Baby, doves are turning their heads on the roofs,
Sent clear letters by ended pens to a distant place.
Baby, crinkle your nose, screw up your pretty face,
Don’t turn away your long-awaited warm sense
Of pleasure at the end of the way, be yourself
If your wishes come through the welded arc gates.
Baby, sin is taking off over noisy dirty dormant city
Come with him into astonishing gloomy alone day;
If you wish something more to stay only “sweetie”
Take your bag, set off for long way to a close bay.
Baby, the sea air is going to do you better and good,
Create thinking of complicated chance of advance;
Rear your head but not voice of transcendent mood
Run, my dear, with tear-sheet from your broken heart.