I faced a blight of kind words
From a man in flannel trousers.
He was rough-good and poor
Though a peer of the best
Who worked and played hard.
He kindled flames in every nerve-end,
He walked with sway, suavely
The cock-sure tom-fool twinkling
Of his eyes was pointed-flat
And his face was full of meaning
And my world was at his feet.
Well, why the sadness
Of a life that's not just madness?
For shuffling feet will shuffle
And cholic anger yet will rage
And I will live though life in liquor
You shall rise and I shall taste.
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