A montmartre dirge

Lyrics from an old tune, apropos of a September Saturday…

bon temps mes amis
it’s no longer the evening
and I have been drinking again

I’ve toasted myself
in spite of my health
I will roll ‘em on over again

it’s tra-la and tra-lee
we’ve stolen the seed
it will not grow back from within

they’ll procure no doubt
some source from without
and bathe our souls in our sins

flyin’ on blackberry wine
run down and ragged in time
I would beg the lord for a dime
I will bathe my soul in my sin

bon temps mes amis
I can’t feel my knees
I’m tired of this blasphemous gin

I will try in the night
to wake in the morning
the same man that I left in the evening

but I’m sullen and lonely
Tex’ says it’s only
acute aversion to the light

so bon temps mes amis
we have sewn all the seeds
and I’m better alone in the night.

flyin’ on blackberry wine
run down and ragged in time
I would beg the lord for a dime
I will bathe my soul in my sin

despite all my friends
their bitter ends
I will roll them bones again

bon temps mes amis
we’ve sewn all the seeds
and I have been drinking again

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