(Forget the glass, Woodhouse, just give me the pitcher
For I am a sinner in the hands of an angry god
Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you among cocktails
Pray for me now, and at the hour of my death
Which I hope is soon
Amen)
(There's an old joke - um... two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort
And one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible"
The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions"
Well, that's essentially how I feel about life
Full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly)
Si al final todos los (d)años
Se van a acabar