Oh, The Brave Music Of A Distant

Drink! For You Know Not Whence You Came Nor Why.

Think Not I Dread To See My Spirit Fly, Through The Dark Gates Of Fell Mortality; Death Has No Terrors When The Life Is True; 'tis Living Ill That Makes Us Fear To Die.

You've Seen The World, And All You've Seen Is Nothing; And Everything, As Well, That You Have Said And Heard Is Nothing. You've Sprinted Everywhere Between Here And The Horizon; It Is Nothing. And All The Possessions You've Treasured Up At Home Are Nothing.

When I Want To Understand What Is Happening Today Or Try To Decide What Will Happen Tomorrow, I Look Back.

So When That Angel Of The Darker Drink, At Last Shall Find You By The River-brink, And, Offering His Cup, Invite Your Soul Forth To Your Lips To Quaff-you Shall Not Shrink.