I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.

I like to think I get better with age, but maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder.

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.

And I was desolate and sick of an old passion.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.