And so we've had another night
of poetry and poses
And each man knows he'll be alone
when the sacred gin mill closes

And so we'll drink the final glass
each to his joy or sorrow
And hope the numbing drunk will last
'til opening tomorrow

And when we stumble back again
like paralytic dancers
Each knows the questions he will ask
and each man knows the answers

And so we'll drink the final drink
that cuts the brain in sections
Where answers never signify
and the aren't any questions

I broke my heart the other day
it'll mend again tomorrow
If I'd been drunk when I was born
I'd be ignorant of sorrow

And so we'll drink the final toast
that never can be spoken
Here's to the heart that's wise enough
to know when its better off broken

(and then the tin pan bended and the story ended)

[Dave Van Ronk wrote that.  I typed it.]