Auld Lang Syne

Fingers of a ghoul, wrap around a glass of wine/where there’s a likely attempt,/to wrangle the edge of the bar with winners,/ curtains drawn in half./Seeking this bum out, and his old pal, brought our merits into question./ Somewhere, we could find the proper guiding elixirs/just for tending coal: we were a dime a dozen. /The same grim answer to every tight remark,then talking a blue streak;we hit the ceiling. /Drive to the bar in a foot of snow,/ they sound out  brave words,/willing to end it all at the tops of trees

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