Please, gimme a drink, mate, I wanna get drunk.
I gotta get wasted ‘til I fall down—kerplunk!
Forgetting my misery, if just for a while.
I’m feeling quite dizzy, but look at my smile.
I seek soothing solace in strange women’s arms.
I’ll turn up the humor while I turn on my charms.
I’ll bed 'em—not wed 'em—it helps me feel sane.
I’m drinking while thinking my life’s gone down the drain.
It’s often been said that the further away
a love—once removed—grows much fonder, each day.
But I gotta say that I truly do wonder...
does absinthe really cause aching hearts to grow fonder?