Holy Cause

It's a sacred duty to have a drink after the bathhouse, When, with your own burning lips, You touch the sweating glass, From which the coolness flows inside. And now it has spread through every vein, And grabbing a bag with my laundry and soap, Leaving behind the dirt I brought in, I step out of the bathhouse a new man. How much does a simple man really need? Your reward matches your rank. But the finger of reproach has burned my soul— Why am I deprived of life's better places? Yes, me, yes, you, yes, him, yes, all of us together, Yes, if at once, if in the right place— If there were a goal, then there would be a point, We'll follow the trail like a hungry wolf. It's a sacred duty to have a drink after the bathhouse, When, with your own burning lips, You touch the sweating glass, From which the coolness flows inside.