Woke up with glitter in my hair, phone on the floor
Empty pizza boxes, what am I living for?
Another weekend lost, a blurry memory maze
Guess moderation's just a word from bygone days

Call me Queen of Excess, champion of the splurge
Got a one-track mind, gotta feed the urge
Ice cream for breakfast, dancing 'til the dawn
Living life in fast-forward, can't hit the pause button

Binge on laughter, binge on tears, binge on everything in sight
Yeah, I'm a binger, baby, living life on overdrive
Got a million feelings, gotta feel them all at once
Maybe it's a problem, but I'm having way too much fun

Got a closet full of clothes, haven't worn them twice
Books on the shelf, unread stories and advice
But tonight's a dance party, a one-woman show
Let the music take control, let the good times flow

Call me Queen of Excess, champion of the splurge
Got a one-track mind, gotta feed the urge
Sparkling wine for lunch, karaoke 'til I'm hoarse
Living life in technicolor, can't ignore the force

Binge on laughter, binge on tears, binge on everything in sight
Yeah, I'm a binger, baby, living life on overdrive
Got a million feelings, gotta feel them all at once
Maybe it's a problem, but I'm burning way too bright

Maybe someday I'll slow down, take a breath and see
But for now, I'm chasing rainbows, wild and fancy free

Binge on life, binge on love, yeah, I'm a binger, that's enough

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow.  Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,
 —In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,
After the matches carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join.  He wonders why…
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.

That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
He asked to join.  He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears
Of Fear came yet.  He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
To-night he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is!  Why don't they come
And put him into bed?  Why don't they come?