| I miss my friends tonight, their faces shine for me
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| The clamor of their singing’s like some mad calliope
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| Still ringing through the Lion’s Head until the morning light
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight
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| With Jameson’s or Bushmills, or Trotsky on the rocks;
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| The Fenian at the barricade, the batter in the box
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| A song for every season, a smile in every fight
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight
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| When Dave was in his glory, and singing Brecht and Weill
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| The Clancys hauled a chantey out and gave us Paddy Doyle
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| The Mets were either best or worst, and Marx was wrong or right
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight
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| I wonder where they are now, they could be anywhere;
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| In Hell or California, or back in Sheridan Square
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| They left us where they left us, so we put out the light
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight
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| They drained a parting glass then, and sailed off to sea
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| And what a crew of rogues they made in gleeful anarchy
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| They sang to the horizon a song no pen could write
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight
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| They sang to the horizon a song no pen could write
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| Comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight |