We once began our bacchanal
days of wine and roses; all.
‘Til the band did stop its play
if we had no means to pay.
Oh, the frenzied riot’s bloom;
Oh, the headache mid the tune.
When the day did dawn anew
we were forced see it through.
Riotous, emboldened, short
haunts the memory’s cavort.
Oh, the candle burned too bright
as it snuffed reality.
Purple, the passion, college days;
grain of alcohol we played.
Priest and Priestess; we were gay.
Died too soon, a withered fate.
Swept away in our bacchanal
hollow dreams in hallowed hall.