If I Don't Enjoy Myself Now, When

Here's To The Man Who Owns The Land That Bears The Grapes That Makes The Wine That Tastes As Good As This Does.

I Hide My Grief, Just Like The Blessed Birds Hide Themselves When They Are Preparing To Die, My Love.

The Secret Must Be Kept From All Non-people. The Mystery Must Be Hidden From All Idiots.

Why, All The Saints And Sages Who Discuss'd Of The Two Worlds So Wisely - They Are Thrust Like Foolish Prophets Forth; Their Words To Scorn Are Scattered, And Their Mouths Are Stopped With Dust.

Thy Return Is As Another Sun To Heaven; A New Rose Blooming In The Garden Of The Soul.