Ha ha! How ironic is this conception?
A bottle, filled left in the oubliette that you and I fill!
Perhaps it's a cruel joke, or maybe compassion
To let us drown our sorrows in a doldrum like fashion.

Hell, my friend, it surely awaits, so let's take our swigs
And numb ourselves from our unmerciful fates.
You know, this situation as I drink gets funnier and funnier...
I'd bet right now, de' Medici herself stands above in the Louvre,
That crafty witch!

Would you like some more of this Cognac before the dungeon master
Comes back?
One more joie de vivre until the chemistry fades?
What does it matter if it isn't ours?
Our final hours will be forgotten, and between you and me,
This will start the after party early.

A votre sante!
To the nobodies!