All that's good, all that's right
Everything hot, all that's tight
Women, men, pubescent girls
Never again to finger their curls
On their heads so exquisite
Never again to visit
The palace, the palace of love

Forty years of living then death,
That's all that's left,
Forty years - then death
Forty years - that's all that's left.

The work is just beginning
As my hair, it begins thinning,
Pleasure is past and all that's dear
As friends and foe alike disappear
Never again to visit
The palace, the palace of love

Forty years of living then death,
That's all that's left,
Forty years - then death
Forty years - that's all that's left.

Perfume! The smell of perfume is forgotten
And the shape of her room and the sheets on her bed
Disappear forever from my head
No more the sudden thrill
As I dip into the swill
Never again to visit
The palace, the palace of love