The winter’s cold can’t stop the warmth
Of true love’s fiery furnace.
It melts the snow down to a river
That washes away the sadness.

The angels outside Rosse Hall sing
Their wings, they are a-fluttering.
Much like the hearts of young love new
I swear their eyes are sparkling.

Yet here I sit alone in bed
No one to share Saturday with,
But Netflix and potato chips
And they aren’t great at conversation.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset,
I know that I’m a really a keeper.
Beyonce may be Drunk in Love,
But I’ve always found wine to be cheaper.