How good it is without women or phrases,
Without bitter tears or sweet kisses,
Without those dear too honest eyes
That lie to you and yet are jealous of you.
How good it is without dramatic scenes
Without long "noble" explanations.
Without these hysterical betrayals,
Without these belated regrets.
And how laughable is the ridiculous game,
Where the loss is big and the gain such a pittance
When other players are card-sharps,
And it's impossible to leave the game.
How nice it it to wake alone
In your cosy bachelor flat
And to know that you don't have
To give account, to no one in the world.
How good it is, together with a mate
To sit and drink simple Scotch whisky
And smiling, remember that
You once were close with that lady.
And to win back the loss a little
To start an innocent flirtation with her friend
In order to somehow secure
The simple pride of a man.