(Let's sing another song, boys, this one has grown old and bitter)

Ah his fingernails, I see they're broken,
his ships they're all on fire
The moneylender's lovely little daughter
ah, she's eaten, she's eaten with desire
She spies him through the glasses
from the pawnshops of her wicked father
She hails him with a microphone
that some poor singer, just like me, had to leave her
She tempts him with a clarinet,
she waves a Nazi dagger
She finds him lying in a heap;
she wants to be his woman
He says, "Yes, I might go to sleep
but kindly leave, leave the future,
leave it open"

He stands where it is steep,
oh I guess he thinks that he's the very first one,
his hand upon his leather belt now
like it was the wheel of some big ocean liner
And she will learn to touch herself so well
as all the sails burn down like paper
And he has lit the chain
of his famous cigarillo
Ah, they'll never, they'll never ever reach the moon,
at least not the one that we're after;
it's floating broken on the open sea, look out there, my friends,
and it carries no survivors
But lets leave these lovers wondering
why they cannot have each other,
and let's sing another song, boys,
this one has grown old and bitter