Memories of Picardy

It's raining in my heart;
My holidays lie in ruins.
What is this dampness I feel
Seeping through my underpants?

My beloved lies dead
'Neath the bloodied wheels of a coach;
O how short was her life;
And now she's squashed like a tortoise.

The poppies are waving in the wind
Bidding adieu to my hornbag mistress,
A victim of heavy holiday traffic
On the byways of summertime Picardy.

My loins feel my pain keenly:
Where on earth shall I find another
Filthy little slut like her?
O, it's raining in my heart!