And as the curtain comes down,
and my show comes to an end;
as my unstrung ukulele finishes its last vibrato,
and with my eyes closed I can hear the sole spectator applauding.

I walk away covered by the smoke from my cigarette.
I exit the platform as the last candle remaining drowns on its own melted wax,
descending to the open arms of the bartender,
the wisest man one could ever meet, anyone's best friend.
He receives me with a welcoming smile, and without opening my lips he pours me my preferred nectar, awaiting for me to tell him my miseries for the small price of my weekly earnings.

Then it hits me, just as that candle burned out,
so have I, I have picked enough tulips to know that heaven has stood still long enough for me to make my way upstairs.
So I grab my instrument, light up another cigarette, and walk out the door,
to receive my sole spectator with open arms.