They Are Not Long, The Days Of

I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine.

I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine, But When The Feast Is Finished And The Lamps Expire, Then Falls Thy Shadow, Cynara! The Night Is Thine.

I Understand That Absinthe Makes The Tart Grow Fonder.

They Are Not Long, The Days Of Wine And Roses.

They Are Not Long, The Weeping And The Laughter. Love And Desire And Hate; I Think They Have No Portion In Us After We Pass The Gate.