The beauty of it, honey,
Is that we don't know what we're doing.
We're like 1916 silent movie queens--
Stars of a medium too new to have any stock scenes.
Let me cake on the raccoon eyes and vamp--
You drive the open-top car, and we'll both wear enormous wide-brimmed hats.
We might be speaking Russian--
The silents keep it hid;
We can never say the wrong thing, honey,
Nor confess it if we did.