Sometimes when the evening's 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
He'll slip away but only when
He sees our glasses filled again