Pop the finest corks. Wake old barley malt.
Filet the fat calf. Rub pepper and salt.
Send us heaven or hell? Now who's to say?
They’ll look down upon us, speak of our smiles,
They’ll look down upon us, speak of our smiles,
Our glasses, our plates, our smokes and our brew.
Surrounded with chums: some old and some new.
Boldly declare: “Man, they did it with style.”
Dead with a dollar or a million bucks?
Let’s toast the fellow. He's just one of us.
Unknown or famous? Stretch limo or bus?
What’s it matter now? Don't ruffle my tux.
We might die today? Always been the case.
We might die today? Always been the case.
Bug me none with it. I've smoke in my face.
Written for the Legends of the Fire "End of the World" party. Featured in "Growing at the Sun".
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