Now here’s to the moment’s we’ve stolen,
Now stealing you know is wrong,
But after we’ve stolen these moments,
Just to whom do these moments belong?
Now if a man has a bushel of apples
And he willfully lets them rot,
And someone came along and stole them
Would you blame him—why certainly not.
Because apples were meant to be eaten,
And moments were meant for delight,
And that’s just what we’ll tell our conscience
Dear—if it bothers us—AFTER TONIGHT—