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.