Oh, I Never Felt So Wretched, And Things Never Looked So Blue Since The Days I Gulped The Physic That My Granny Used To Brew; For A Friend In Whom I Trusted, Entering My Room Last Night, Stole A Bottleful Of Heenzo From The Desk Whereon I Write. I Am Certain Sure He Did It (Though He Never Would Let On), For All Last Week He Had A Cold And To-Day His Cough Is Gone; Now I'm Sick And Sore And Sorry, And I'm Sad For Friendship'S Sake (It Was Better Than The Cough-Cure That Our Granny Used To Make). Oh, He Might Have Pinched My Whisky, And He Might Have Pinched My Beer, Or All The Fame Or Money That I Make While Writing Here, Oh, He Might Have Shook The Blankets And I'd Not Have Made A Row, If he'd Only Left My Heenzo Till The Morning, Anyhow. So I've Lost My Faith In Mateship, Which Was All I Had To Lose Since I Lost My Faith In Russia And Myself And Got The Blues; And So Trust Turns To Suspicion, And So Friendship Turns To Hate, Even Kaiser Bill Would Never Pinch His Heenzo From A Mate.