The Hour of Sweet Oblivion

As the evening draws nigh and one wonders why That, the joy of the game is the winning; Do we really know! is it really so! That the end of the day is the beginning ? For, the dark is the time, even though it's a crime, A transgression devoid of one's choosing And, between me and you we see that it's true The real joy of the game is the losing. Yet, when we grow older our essays grow colder As the cease of the day slowly nears And, as sure as the sun, the win can't be won So, the joy of the game disappears. Now the sunlight has fled and we take to our bed And enhance our muse with deceit And the lapse of our sleep lets the past overleap And we bathe in oblivion sweet'