We have our ups and down’s – the earth’s not flat
Neither is life – How will resplendent Heaven,
Having reached the plateau of perfection,
Not be boring? Our love’s a kind
Of perfection of imperfections, Paradise
Made up of bits of dear old earth
We’re sinners whom God came for
And sometimes when two sinners get together
Immaculate sparks fly. Our love’s no steady
Stream of light, but brilliant sparks
Flying off endlessly in the gloom
And glorious.