In my dreams, the flares shine.
I’m grunting and I’m turning.
I’ll be fine. I will be fine.
I’ll be better in the morning.

But the morning helps me not:
it brings me even lower.
Smoking on an empty gut
and drinking on a hangover.

Hey again, and once again.
And one more time and over,
and again, and once again
Drinking on a hangover.

In a pub - a bitter cup,
white napkins in my honor.
Fools’ and beggars’ paradise stop
but I feel like I’m cornered.

Church’s bench, dim lights and stench.
Deacons fuming incense.
In the church it’s all wrong again.
Never making no sense.

Up the mountain I flee.
That might make me merry!
At the top I see the alder tree,
and at the foot - the cherry.

Weave the ivy ‘round the slope.
Maybe that’d be worth it.
Something - anything! - for my hope.
Nothing’s ever perfect.

Hey again, and once again.
And one more time and over,
and again, and once again
Drinking on a hangover.

By the river, in the fields
the daylight’s dark! There’s no god!
In the fields the clovers kneel
by the lonely road.

By the road the forest stands,
with witches casting hexes.
And there, at the road’s end -
the gallows and the axes.

Somewhere the steeds in unison dance,
reluctant and demure.
On the road it’s all wrong again,
and at the end - for sure!

The church, the pub, and so on:
one as wicked as the other!
No, brothers, everything is wrong.
It’s all wrong, my brothers!

Hey again, and once again.
And one more time and over,
and again, and once again
It’s all wrong, my brothers.