The flame of the inn is dim tonight,Too many vacant chairs.The sun has lost too much of its light,Too many songs have taken flight,Too many ghosts on the stairs.Charon, here's to you as man against man,I wish I could pick 'em the way you can!

Tigana, let my memory ofyou be like a blade in mysoul.

Here's champagne for our real friends, and real pain for our sham friends.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.