Happy Hour
Sweet alcohol, god of afternoons,
who carry in the crook of your elbow
the olive and the olive branch, unsheathe
your plastic sword from the flaming stone
and pierce, for us, perception's swinging doors.
En garde, Monsieur Fear, take that
and that. Monsieur Ennui, you rat,
lie down with your mouse, Regret.
Let memory waltz with roses
and Time disappear in the mist;
let the mirrors weep with happiness
at our pagan Eucharist.
O there will be a great consummation,
there will be a righting of wrongs!
If the telephone rings we'll ignore it
while we sing the sad old songs.
We're not afraid of the telephone,
or the dark with its grinning toad;
we're not afraid of the night tonight;
let's have one more for the road.
Common sense should tell us
we pay with pain for our sins
but we won't pay till tomorrow;
today, everyone wins!
Common sense will tell you
drinks and love don't last.
Waiter, here's looking at you.
Lover, fill up the glass.
who carry in the crook of your elbow
the olive and the olive branch, unsheathe
your plastic sword from the flaming stone
and pierce, for us, perception's swinging doors.
En garde, Monsieur Fear, take that
and that. Monsieur Ennui, you rat,
lie down with your mouse, Regret.
Let memory waltz with roses
and Time disappear in the mist;
let the mirrors weep with happiness
at our pagan Eucharist.
O there will be a great consummation,
there will be a righting of wrongs!
If the telephone rings we'll ignore it
while we sing the sad old songs.
We're not afraid of the telephone,
or the dark with its grinning toad;
we're not afraid of the night tonight;
let's have one more for the road.
Common sense should tell us
we pay with pain for our sins
but we won't pay till tomorrow;
today, everyone wins!
Common sense will tell you
drinks and love don't last.
Waiter, here's looking at you.
Lover, fill up the glass.