Sometimes when the evenings young
The wind dies down, the setting sun
Crochets the clouds with yarn so fine
And fills the oceans with red win
The trees, the sky, the forest fair
Bring a flavor to the air
I raise my glass and in a while
You answer with a secret smile
Hold on, hold on to me
An airborne leaf that landed near Has carried Dionysus here
Hell slip away but only when
He sees our glasses filled again
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