The roof has just let out a groan
There's grim silence when I lift the phone
Wind's howlin' it's snowin'
Rain gauge's overflowin'
TV's dark. I'll get out my trombone
No more roving so late into night,
Though our hearts still love and the moon's bright.
For the soul wears the breast,
Love itself must have rest.
We shall not love or rove by moonlight.