Onto the street with my hat on,
oh November is here,
oh the wheels of faith are broken,
still the heart and liver steer.
Walk into a bar for the rich ones,
where you sweat to quench your thirst,
holy water down the throat
and the goddess will descend a little more.
No, her beauty doesn't find words,
but I try on and on,
she walks by a monastery,
that's why the monks are no longer monks.
Wounds of shiver, soaked my pleasure
in the gin on her tray,
that I'm sober I'll pretend
though I'm drunk on looks
that claim that there's no end.
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And I'll be paying my bill
as you're standing still
we're dressed to kill
dawns on top of the hill.
After all I'm not that ill.
Three a.m. ma'am I am,
I'm ready to praise your eyes,
when these drinkers ache for leaving,
I'll pawn myself past closing time.
But if you stay I'll love the prison,
I'll be friends with the guard,
though I'm buried in the yard
just one spark will make
the night no longer dark.
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And I'll be paying my bill
as you're standing still
we're dressed to kill
dawns on top of the hill.