This Leather Slap
This leather slap of Old Lang Syne Invisible eyes of the swinging party Stinging unseen but felt by me As I toast the midnight chimes Half of spilt bitter memory One more year of unsavoury destiny Cheek printed hand red Determination running hiding from me Though if I listen carefully I can hear it, over there Behind the last stroke Of this, just one more cup Of unfulfilled dreams Next year, all eyes whisper In sadness or joyful tears For the sake of Old Lang Syne Sign in to see full entry.