Before I Drink Myself To Death, God, Let Me Finish Up My Book! At Night, I Fear, I Fight For Breath, And Wake Up Whiter Than A Spook; And Crawl Off To A Bistro Near, And Drink Until My Brain Is Clear. Rare Absinthe! Oh, It Gives Me Strength To Write And Write; And So I Spend Day After Day, Until At Length With Joy And Pain I'll Write The End: Then Let This Carcase Rot; I Give The World My Book - My Book Will Live. For Every Line Is Tense With Truth, There'S Hope And Joy On Every Page; A Cheer, A Clarion Call To Youth, A Hymn, A Comforter To Age: All'S There That I Was Meant To Be, My Part Divine, The God In Me. It's Of My Life The Golden Sum; Ah! Who That Reads This Book Of Mine, In Stormy Centuries To Come, Will Dream I Rooted With The Swine? Behold! I Give Mankind My Best: What Does It Matter, All The Rest? It's This That Makes Sublime My Day; It's This That Makes Me Struggle On. Oh, Let Them Mock My Mortal Clay, My SpirIt's Deathless As The Dawn; Oh, Let Them Shudder As They Look . . . I'll Be Immortal In My Book. And So Beside The Sullen Seine I Fight With Dogs For Filthy Food, Yet Know That From My Sin And Pain Will Soar Serene A Something Good; Exultantly From Shame And Wrong A Right, A Glory And A Song.