45. Aubade
Rise, rise, rise, you orb of heat
Shine, shine, shine, you ball of light
Rise, rise, rise, up on my feet
Shine, shine, shine: I think I might
Charles was pacing as the clock’s hands waved goodnight. He stayed up all night, rehearsing the song to welcome the sun, because he loved her more than anything. However, this love was impure. The happy emotion was sadly stolen out of his miserable hatred of the moon. The moon may be a cool son of a bitch, but he’s still a son of a bitch. Prior to the first rays peaking over the horizon, Charles had involuntarily disappeared into a dream.
The sun whispered in her sultry hiss of a voice, “Where’s my song, baby?”
As she rose a little more, she could see that he was under the spell of sleep. I thought this one really loved me, the sun thought to herself.
“Good night, my sweet Charles….” she said, because she could not speak with tears.
And, like, don’t worry. They totally patched things up the following morning. It was just scary for her for like a second, ya know? Like all of a sudden, boom: he doesn’t give a shit anymore? Charles’ apologized profusely, and she explained that it was an emotional day, and that she like never gets to see him anymore, and Charles was like, “Me too!”, and they were both like, Thank goodness, we’re on the same wave-length!
And then they french kissed and did some on-top-of-the-clothes stuff. And no one ever saw Charles again, which gave the moon an excess of pleasure.
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