Rita

We met the queen of gin
she was in a roadside bar.

I think her name is Rita,
I don't remember very well
I just know we didn't see her again.

She tried to take me upstairs
had to hook onto
my drunkenness around my neck.

We were celebrating something,
don't ask me what...
I just know I couldn't stand up.

And upstairs...
a wooden bed and a mattress underneath
a spittoon and the heat...
drenching the whole bed in sweat.

In the morning I woke up...
with a hangover from hell
somewhat confused and sticky I showered.

She was no longer there
but she left some roses...
in an empty M. G. bottle.

Because Rita Rita is the queen of gin...
She looks at you with a certain sadness...
And I'm sure I won't see her again...

No, no, no...
Rita!...