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.
Chorus
Forty years of livin' - then death,
That's all that's left;
Forty years - then death.
Forty years - all that's left.
The work, it is just beginin'
As my hair, it begins thinin';
Pleasure is past, the end
Of all that's dear, as friend
And foe alike disappear -
Never again to visit
The palace, the palace of love.
Perfume! The smell of perfume
Is forgotten, and the shape of the 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.