| When you’re too old to hit the timbers
|
| But you still remember the sound of the planks
|
| When the snow’s deep in mid-December
|
| You think of September and a girl you once knew
|
| Well, you’re too tired to sleep
|
| And you’re too old to think
|
| So you pour another drink
|
| And you swear this one’s the last
|
| Well, you’re too tired to sleep
|
| And you’re too old to think
|
| So you pour another drink
|
| And you swear this one’s the last
|
| When the moon shines in your window and you hear the wind blow
|
| And you’re awake with the past
|
| Well, the moon, she’s bright and yellow
|
| And the phone says hello but you want to put it down
|
| Well, you’re too tired to sleep
|
| And you’re too old to think
|
| So you pour another drink
|
| And you swear this one’s the last
|
| And you swear this one’s the last
|
| And you swear this one’s the last |