I Understand That Absinthe Makes The Tart

I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine, But When The Feast Is Finished And The Lamps Expire, Then Falls Thy Shadow, Cynara! The Night Is Thine.

I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine.

They Are Not Long, The Days Of Wine And Roses. Out Of A Misty Dream, Our Path Emerges For A While, Then Closes, Within A Dream.

Pale Amber Sunlight Falls Across The Reddening October Trees.... Are We Not Better And At Home In Dreamful Autumn, We Who Deem No Harvest Joy Is Worth A Dream? A Little While And Night Shall Come, A Little While, Then, Let Us Dream.

I Understand That Absinthe Makes The Tart Grow Fonder.