To Altamont the 'Irishman';
To the German Secretary;
To five agents now betrayed
By a hideous goatee;
To Von Bork the master spy -
A sportsman for the Kaiser;
To the quiet waiting chauffer -
Our patriotic doctor;
To Martha and her black cat;
As the Guns of August wait,
Even Sherlock Holmes and Watson
Can't save the world from its fate.

Yet pass about the Tokay and raise up the glasses
As into that last night the little Ford car passes;
Sixty-four tales told will not find me a mourner
For Stamford is waiting at a bar around the corner.