Life Is A Long Headache In A

The Luck Will Alter And The Star Will Rise.

Off Cape Horn There Are But Two Kinds Of Weather, Neither One Of Them A Pleasant Kind.

Oh Some Are Fond Of Spanish Wine, And Some Are Fond Of French.

It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes And A Lot Of Automatic Pistols.

On The Long Dusty Ribbon Of The Long City Street, The Pageant Of Life Is Passing Me On Multitudinous Feet, With A Word Here Of The Hills, And A Song There Of The Sea And-the Great Movement Changes-the Pageant Passes Me.