The Singer
Give me the lyre of Homer, far from the note of war; bring me, ah, bring me the sacred drinking cup.
I will mix my songs — I will be drunk and dance! In hatred of temperance I will call to the mad wine-bibber with a music of lyres.
Give me the lyre of Homer, far from the note of war.
I will mix my songs — I will be drunk and dance! In hatred of temperance I will call to the mad wine-bibber with a music of lyres.
Give me the lyre of Homer, far from the note of war.
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