Many drunkards go tonight And I see many stories fade away Middle-aged man Tells me a moldy jork and laughing by himself then claps his hands His smile eases my mind Telling me the same story over thousand times then claps his hands Every week, standing on the platform of a moldy Koiki Bar Wrinkly his white shirt, a sneeze "Do Dorong!" When he's gone, the halo on the real man's back Many drunkards go tonight And I see many stories fade away