I cannot check my mad misdeeds,
Nor my wild ways amend.
Another bottle, found, precedes
Another Lost Weekend.

Come to my lips, dementing brew!
Come, bottle, to my arms!
For you can quell (and only you)
Life's devilish alarms.

A mouse? Quite likely. Pink or green?
They haunt me night and day;
But once I've milked the bottle clean,
They wink -- and fly away.