A song for this, the final hour, The glasses drained, yet hearts are full. One seat remains beside the fire, The embers fade — a long farewell. The clock strikes one in tap-room halls, Yet life still lingers in the air. No shadows on the wooden walls, No trace of sorrow or despair. A weary man, a patron old, Who sips his dram in quiet ease, He watches as the tales unfold, Until the night itself finds peace. He dreams of golden times long past, Of cherished songs and fading stars. He stays behind when all have gone, When noise has died and night drifts on. He thinks of all the years long past And slowly drinks his parting glass. The guests are home and in their beds. The landlord cleans the countertop. No words are left in weary heads. The heavy sounds of nighttime stop. One silent nod is all they share. A creaking hinge beside the door, He steps into the misty air Onto the cobbles, damp and worn. Wrapped in fog and silver haze, He sees the ghosts of ancient days. He stays behind when all have gone, When noise has died and night drifts on. He thinks of all the years long past And slowly drinks his parting glass. Upon that bench a game was played, A kiss once shared, a sudden fight, Where fortune smiled and bets were laid, Beneath the lantern's golden light. And suddenly the air feels warm. The windows glow with yellow fire. It holds a quiet, holy charm: The end of ev'ry heart's desire. He rubs his weary bones grown old. A final look — the tale is told. He lived his life just as it came, With honest heart and free of shame, With wit and joy for all who pass, From the first drop to the parting glass.
