| I’ll play Bacchus for the evening
|
| Pray, be seated, take your places
|
| Should my manner seem displeasing
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| Offend your airs and graces
|
| I’ve a list long as your arm
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| The connoisseur’s selection
|
| Such bitter whines, a quaff of qualms
|
| Awaiting your inspection
|
| The bubbles burst, this ain’t «sham-pain»
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| I’ve watched hopes wither on the vine
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| The fruits of labour’s toil in vain
|
| I reap soul grapes at harvest time
|
| Anno 1999: a classic year for vintage whine!
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| Since it’s drawn I must sup the cellarage of sorrow
|
| Yet fate refills my tarnished cup each time I drain the dregs
|
| Their poison cannot kill me, new strength from it I’ll borrow
|
| My maudlin is a caudle that would fill a thousand kegs
|
| Here’s one for the road, afore ye go
|
| Drink deep, sweet lads and lasses
|
| Those blighted crops you gladly sow
|
| Shall one day fill your glasses
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| Brood for decades, pure hate distilled
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| Then bottled up much longer
|
| Revenge, a draught I’ll serve you chilled
|
| When time has made it stronger
|
| Non-cordial, it’s bile bouquet
|
| Laments ferment, the patience «schnapps»
|
| Cask full of mulled futile dismay
|
| My well-aged rage, you’ve turned the taps
|
| Anno 1999: a classic year for vintage whine!
|
| Since it’s drawn I must sup the cellarage of sorrow
|
| Yet fate refills my tarnished cup each time I drain the dregs
|
| Their poison cannot kill me, new strength from it I’ll borrow
|
| My maudlin is a caudle that would fill a thousand kegs
|
| Anno 1999: a classic year for vintage whine! |