You always had the nerve to recommend a certain kind of place to dine in,
You'd always condescend to bring us back to your boxy-shaped apartment,
You showed us that we're poorer than you are, and you're an undiscovered star,
But now you're at the bottom of the ocean you're forgiven and we talk about the good times –
– And how they're dying like the ants drowning slowly in a summer sink of dishes,
Receding like the golden bikes of yore along the glory roads of yesterday.
The dust is settling on a wasted page and now we're in another stage,
Our friends have all forgotten us but did they really like us and were they really good times?
La la la la etc...
So now we're purging out our systems with a cocktail of corrosive liver juices,
Three weeks of only spinach should atone for a lifetime of adultery,
We flagellate ourselves for our substandard performance at the gym
And drink expensive coffee and kid ourselves discreetly that these are really good times,
And drink expensive coffee and waste expensive moments talking about the good times.