Reference to:
Dregs
A poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Dregs
The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof,
(This is the end of every song man sings!)
The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain,
Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain;
And health and hope have gone the way of love
Into the drear oblivion of lost things.
Ghosts go along with us until the end;
This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend.
With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait
For the dropped curtain and the closing gate:
This is the end of all the songs man sings.
Alone​
This is the end of every song that we sing
The fire burned out to ash and the stars grown dim with tears
Cold and afraid, the ghosts of all that we've been
We toast with bitter dregs, to our emptiness
And the birds falling out of our skies
And the words falling out of our minds
And here is to love, to all the love
Falling out of our lives
Hopes and dreams are gone
The end of every song
​
[Chorus]
And it all stops
We were always sure that we would never changе
And it all stops
We were always surе that we would stay the same
But it all stops
And we close our eyes to sleep
To dream a boy and girl
Who dream the world is nothing but a dream
[Outro]
Where did it go?
Where did it go?
Broken voiced lament to call us home
This is the end of every song we sing
Where did it go?
Where did it go?
Where did it go?
Where did it go?
Broken voiced lament to call us home
This is the end of every song we sing, alone
​
​
Writer: Robert Smith
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group