When the darkness wanes at the break of morn and the birds begin their song.
When the ring of the clock set at half past six pierces the infant dawn.
When the brand new day does its victory dance on the back of the dying night,
Then the head of the man sprawling on the bed withdraws from the glaring light.

Just the night before in the smoke-filled room with the pint clutched in his hand,
Surrounded by lads in an all men´s world, the setting seemed o´ so grand.
Between hits from the pint he laid out his dreams in a way that sounded so real.
With each empty mug came another one full as he drafted his evening meal.

With the passage of night his speech slowed down but his eloquence seemed to rise,
As his thoughts poured out from his open heart; a cocktail of truth and lies.
A lad among lads, a man among men, he stood there hour on hour,
´ Till he started to totter and almost fell like that famous Italian tower.

With the luck of the cat he tiptoed home and crashed like a log on his bed,
And the horrors which swam in his liquid brain were enough to kill the dead.
But despite these ills he´ll survive the day with all of its smiles and tears.
And when night returns, his pint will be raised amid laughter and shouts of „Cheers.“