| Ah, battles and wars
|
| Leave deep wounds and scars
|
| And deep wounds are long in the mending
|
| Where reflecting upon
|
| All that is gone
|
| Your life passes on til it’s ending.
|
| But the pleasure and pain
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| In our memories remain
|
| And by memories, our times will be measured
|
| And the times that we spend
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| With lovers and friends
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| Are times we remember with pleasure.
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| So fill up your glass
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| To the future and past
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| In harmony, be determined:
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| There’s more friendship poured out
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| In a bottle of stout
|
| Than you’ll find in statute or sermon.
|
| I’ve heard all the old songs
|
| of the rights and the wrongs
|
| The prophets of doom and destruction
|
| Speak more of messiahs,
|
| like all pariahs
|
| Up to their necks in corruption.
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| From the holy and wise,
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| Denial and lies,
|
| Where innocent youth is foresaken
|
| I have watched the days end,
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| with lovers and friends,
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| Sorry to see the dawn breaking.
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| There are those who are certain
|
| that drinking and courtin'
|
| Is a sure way to hell and damnation.
|
| Well if that is to be,
|
| it would seem clear to me,
|
| Their God has no sense of occasion.
|
| To fulfill his plan,
|
| both woman and man,
|
| Bring forth each new generation.
|
| And a bottle of stout
|
| And a bit of a bout,
|
| Surely appease procreation.
|
| variation:
|
| So fill up your glass,
|
| throw your arms round your lass
|
| In harmony be determined.
|
| There’s more friendship poured out,
|
| in a bottle of stout
|
| Then you’ll find in statute or sermon.
|
| To the precious and pious
|
| And them that shall chide us
|
| To the fear that the call has been given.
|
| To parade and deride us,
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| Separate and divide us
|
| All in their versions of heaven.
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| But mountains and rivers
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| Will by far outlive us
|
| When our bones into dust they are withered,
|
| There will be lovers and friends,
|
| and we’ll still comprehend
|
| The reason we’re in this together. |