And a deuce-spot smeared with junk.
For when I feel downcast and blue,
Down to the dreamy Chink I sneak,
Where I can “hit the hop” and slumber,
Forgetting the weary world a week.
Passion’s fire now barely smoulders,
Dope has led me far astray,
Still I think of the one who left me
A year ago on Christmas Day.
My love for her has never left me,