The pale green bottle spits and spatters.
Trickling out my fathers friend: cold champagne.
Can't you hear the fizz and patters?

These drunken guests begin their chatters.
In the glass, then down the drain.
The pale green bottle spits and spatters.

Out their mouths come flirts and flatters.
Fingers stretch towards cold champagne.
Can't you hear the fizz and patters?

Now the thin glass slips and shatters.
Bubbles waltzing to their brain.
The pale green bottle slips and spatters.

Trailing off from subject matters.
Empty cups of cold champagne.
Can't you hear the fizz and patters?

The fading sound of frenzied clatters,
kissing them with nights mundane.
The pale green bottle spits and spatters.
Can't you hear the fizz and patters?