Take all these photographs
And throw them away
I'm not half the man that I was
Back in the day
And if you see me coming
Stow everything dear
I'll steal your melody
Your women
And your last glass of beer
When I'm covered in wretchedness
In the cold of the morning
When I rinse sick backwash
In the light of no mourning
When there's no way left to borrow
Drink
Or get stoned
I sing the last thing they gave me
When I still lived at home
Sing to me, papa
For you see I'm crying
Let the birds of my agony
Fly me away
Sing to me sweetly
I'm listening, I'm listening
And in the morning let me wake up
With you again