#martini
Some other time before
I've written sweet words
To all the girls of France
I hope for them to reply
I've swore I'll be happy
Before the end of the year
I've written sweet words
To all the girls of France
Every day and every night
But at the end of the year I am still
Alone in my bed
Nobody misses me
But that's not so bad
I have already spent a good moment
A good moment, some other time before
I think about them with so much sadness
When the moon is full
What parties, what dances
And what songs do they enjoy [lit. spend] without me
The evening starts like an old song
But I am not able to sing
I forgot the melody
For some years now.
Nobody misses me
But that's not so bad
I have already spent a good moment
A good moment, some other time before
I have already spent a good moment…
We’d Mar 4 10:29am
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/autrefois-
Mar 4
Mar 4, 2026 at 10:15 AM UTC
Madam of marvellous
Amazing pure adulterated allure
Raunchy and riding your veins and creating the **** seductive confidence we hide from the day , its like Madam turns from drab to fab
Tonight , a true , trendy femme comes out to play .
Iconic intoxicating
Naughty , nice which side of the coin to be
Innocent ? no pure sass
Martini can be ***** , saucy yet all bubbly and fruity
Espresso electric energy
Madam of mystery and marvel
She can be the the classic girl everyone can rely on or she can be a **** star everyone wishes to try for them selves
Is he an innocent maiden or ready to find her cheeky flity , embrace the fire , the pure powers of the female seduction?
Is she a plain Jane by day and hint of pickle spice by night
1am comes , shoes off wondering the streets looking for comfort and reminisce the charming , fierce flame she becomes with a martini in hand
What a special thing , but is it her vice or medicine ?
Martini miss martini is now a women of marvel and class
Nov 11, 2025
Nov 11, 2025 at 12:44 PM UTC
You caught my eye but once,
You caught me eye but twice,
Then popped them in a cocktail glass,
And topped it up with ice.
Vermouth you added first,
And then a shot of gin,
A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea,
With salt around the rim.
_‘One martini coming up!’_ you drawled,
You slid it down the bar,
And so returned my eyes to me,
Like olives from a jar.
To those who swear that love is blind,
You've surely never been,
The subject of a stolen glance,
From a barmaid named Nadine.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
Today was a day.
Nothing more or less
just a touch of gin
poured over unbroken ice
a hint of vermouth
neither shaken or stirred
and a simple olive
for life did not think
I was ready for
a lemon twist
it seems to be true
that in a glass like this
the day is half empty.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
There are two kinds of people in this world, the kind that get everything they’ve ever wanted and the kind that work hard and live in the dark
I’m feeling loneliest at most
Yep this definitely is depressing, watching cars go by and by
And yet there you are stuck in the same situation as always
Eves dropping, joining into conversations you’re not welcome to
Sipping on a martini, oh no you shouldn’t though, you gotta drive
Home
To where you feel the most emptiest inside
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
You caught my eye but once,
You caught me eye but twice,
Then popped them in a cocktail glass,
And topped it up with ice.
Vermouth you added first,
And then a shot of gin,
A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea,
With salt around the rim.
‘One martini coming up!’ you drawled,
You slid it down the bar,
And so returned my eyes to me,
Like olives from a jar.
To those who swear that love is blind,
You've surely never been,
The subject of a stolen glance,
From a waitress called Nadine.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
I'm feelin' pretty tipsy now
Dancing to the beat, huh
Hey, sweep me off my feet
And take me to the moon
Dancing to the beat, huh
Serve me a martini
And take me to the moon
So we could eat the stars
Serve me a martini
And we'll run away, yeah
So we could eat the stars
Tiny bite-sized bits
So we could eat the stars
Hey, sweep me off my feet
Tiny bite-sized bits
I'm feelin' pretty tipsy now
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
I saw us in that moment,
three circles interwine
in a venn diagram.
Making me dry of words,
just because in that moment
I had nothing to make me dark.
I never thought I could find
what I just had a sip of
and I have never been more thirsty.
It's tea with no need for sugar,
It's a perfect milkshake
and an olive in the martini.
Now you tell me,
for my world is lost.
What am I now suppose to write about?
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
Drunken pirates sloshing along
a martini sea, looking for papers to roll some angelfish ****
Then on to Giza to gaze in amazement before we tackle
the Gates of Hell and raze it.
Swashbuckling demons we branded our feet. A duel with
the devil we had to concede
before sailing back up to our Martini sea.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
* * *
Absorbing dust and Golden heat,
living more openly than I do,
he shimmies to Billie Holiday
The year is not 1957, though
he lives in a San Francisco fog
longing to play the piano
The time in not 11:57pm, though
he orders a ***** martini & swims
in the fishbowl bay
Escaping to Telegraph Hill
to drink moonlight jazz & vermouth
he pretends to live
Way back when
* * *
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
Once upon a time,
i had a book i read nightly....without fail.
t'was a compendium of impossible dreams,
big plans, summaries of late night talks
on "long-shots-but-worth-a-try," stuff,
...our very own fairy tales, where we
wished for magic wands and wings,
written on nights when sleep was elusive,
when bottles of cold beer had lost their effect.
talks were long...my fingers grew tired, for,
my guitar wept with sad songs....t'was then
i learned to pour martini...into my coffee.
::::::::::::::::::
lost my guitar one day, got busted....but, life's
many notes and tunes, played on with time.
eclipses shaded the already dimmed horizon,
floods ruined boxes of souvenirs...stamped,
handwritten...with ribbons of silver and gold...
people died, some left...some fell out of love,
moved near the mountains, others left their
preferred milieus...for uncomfortable zones...
the moon, looking down from mountaintops,
was a witness to tears...of sufferings,
.....realization, and of acceptance.
when nights refused to end,
when the howling of distant dogs, echoed
and shattered the stillness of the night,
i question marked our tales with suspended
endings...tore off unfulfilled, hopeless pages,
i crossed out those with "no forever afters,"
only a few pages were left......so, i began
creating new plots......and new settings
i added new characters, and new twists,
all written in the midst of unholy hours
.......til a new dawn....proclaimed itself...
:::::
to this day,
i write my own fairy tales, with no beer, definitely
i still have my night coffee...though sans martini
......it could be black, or with its mating cream,
....and all the dark curves and swirls, in between...
:::::
"a long shot, but worth a try," it may seem,
...yet, i do wish, i could put some sugar and cream
......upon everyone's dark, and bitter coffee...
:::::
Sally
Copyright June 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
And then the barkeep said...
"One more drop and he'll change from blue to black..."
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
007,
A mystery it seems,
Bursting through the trees,
A beautiful woman on each arm,
And shaken martini in hand,
Not stirred,
Suave and extra hot showers,
With all the ladies he's pulled at the bar,
Dancing deadly,
With bullets and bombs,
His enemies growing angry,
At his tech and smooth pick up lines,
007,
A mystery no more.
*James Bond,
Reporting for service, ma'am.*
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
And now we see the singularity
of the artist, wrists spread bare on
mimed canvas, finally we see
his consistency.
Lazarus is dead on the first day.
Gold background, rocky outcrop,
sense of cluttered space.
Do you see the decay?
Can you sympathize, or do you notice?
I cannot sympathize with Duccio,
I am too vain to admit his Maestá
survives while my brain rots from
alcohol. But I remember Duccio is
at least fifty years old when his Maestá
preeminently destroys my career
as a visual artist. I do not mind.
Lazarus is dead on the second day.
Duccio had many pupils, among them
Simone Martini, whose Annunciation
is a cropped rehash of Byzantine/Gothic
flopped with Duccio's handy flair,
a pious reverence and virtue.
It sweeps and moves. Or attempts.
Lazarus is no longer sleeping.
I have never been to the city of Florence,
not now nor the 1300s, so I need not
explain my lack of comprehension.
Lazarus has risen now,
but it is different than I remember.
Lazarus is all alone, and
Lazarus is alive,
doomed to walk in mortal Hellfire
a second time over.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC