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And so weve had another night |
|
Of poetry and poses, |
|
And each man knows hell be alone |
|
When the sacred ginmill closes. |
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And so well drink the final glass |
|
Each to his joy and sorrow |
|
And hope the numbing drink will last |
|
Til opening tomorrow. |
|
And when we stumble back again |
|
Like paralytic dancers |
|
Each knows the question he must ask |
|
And each man knows the answer. |
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And so well drink the final drink |
|
That cuts the brain in sections |
|
Where answers do not signify |
|
And there aren't any questions. |
|
I broke my heart the other day. |
|
It will mend again tomorrow. |
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If I'd been drunk when I was born |
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I'd be ignorant of sorrow. |
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And so well drink the final toast |
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That never can be spoken: |
|
Heres to the heart that is wise enough |
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To know when it's better off broken. |
