How can thirst be met, its fire tamed?
If no river flows, let wine be claimed.
The night thrummed with far-off oboes' plea,
The night thrummed with far-off oboes' plea,
The night thrummed with far-off oboes' plea,
I wept, drinking deep of wine's decree.
I wept, drinking deep of wine's decree.
Which wound was dealt, by whose cruel hand?
Which wound was dealt, by whose cruel hand?
Which wound was dealt, by whose cruel hand?
Who keeps the score, who can understand?
Who keeps the score, who can understand?
Again I listen to this heart's low moan,
Again I listen to this heart's low moan,
Again I listen to this heart's low moan,
A torment yet to come, I have known.
A torment yet to come, I have known.
How can thirst be met, its fire tamed?
If no river flows, let wine be claimed.
How can thirst be met, its fire tamed?
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