Through all the years of man,
Through all the pain of ;ife,
The ever present sting of ;ife
Runs throuh our souls like a cold knife.

We sing our songs of joy,
We sing our songs of woe,
This is our fav'rite ploy
To drive away the painful foe
That has too often brought us low.

We take the time to care,
We learn to care so that
Our trembling souls might dare
To banish the consuming rat
That gnawed at love while dimb we sat.