The Cobbler’s Song

Nathan Alterman

1963

Shlomo reclines within his shrine
Woe to my days, woe to my nights
Everyone knows how he is
Nobody knows about me
Woe to my days, woe to my nights
As if it means something to anybody.
If I have a flask I’m not doing too bad
But Shlomo has it much better
Since that bitter drop
He doesn’t either give up
Woe to my days, woe to my nights
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