With my toes dangling into the sea,
Into a fog, into a lonely drink
Don't lift me up,
I'm a wreck, I know
Still, I've got miles to walk from the cape along the coast
And we'll play helicopter in the sand
And bite our thumbs at the acquaintances,
And make it known we're on par for the evening,
And take the butcher's knife through my words again
Then, in walk, the mannered men
With their smoke-screened eyes
And the sequined girls
With their skirts hemmed high
And you will know from this
That it's all to start.
Our glasses clink,
And our plastic swords stab our olive hearts
All night like a friendly ghost
We haunt the ins and outs of this house of our gracious host
And give thanks, but not much helps.
And so here is where we give the toast:
Cheers to the wives of the drunks
Cheers to the husbands that tag along for good luck
Cheers to the miles it took to get here
Cheers to the the nerve it takes to forget who we are
Then, in walk, the mannered men
With their smoke-screened eyes
And the sequined girls
With their skirts hemmed high
And you will know from this
That it's all to start.
Our glasses clink,
And our plastic swords stab our olive hearts