The flames of Love extinguished, and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold, that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect Auld Lang Syne.
- On Auld Lang Syne my Jo, On Auld Lang Syne, That thou canst never once reflect, On Auld Lang Syne.
Everyone out this New Year’s Eve, in a bar or at a friend’s home, or just being awake at the stroke of midnight on December 31, will be singing and swaying to the song that heralds in the New Year, Auld Lang Syne. We’ll hear the first notes, and we’ll drop our conversations, breaking out into gusto with the first eight words, after that, we’ll peter out to a mumble and a murmur, faking it until the chorus of Auld Lang Syne! starts again. You can’t convince me otherwise.
We all fake it, swaying and pretending we know the words and even act like we know what Auld Lang Syne means.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and Auld Lang Syne? I don’t know, should it? And is Auld Lang Syne a person, place, or thing? What part of speech is it? Is it a warning? Is it a tale of lessons learned the hard way? Is it a cautionary tale?
- For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup ! and surely I’ll buy mine ! And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne. If we’re making peace, why don’t we buy each other a drink, rather than making it clear that “I’ll toast ye but ye best pay for yer own pint.”
We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine; But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne. NO idea, none, what is going on in this line.
We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne. Now this, I get. Long time apart, shit went down.
And there’s a hand my trusty friend! And give me a hand o’ thine ! And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne. I think we’ve moved on to the forgive and forget part now.
We don’t know the words to Auld Lang Syne, none of us do. If you tell me you do, or that you know what it means, I won’t believe you. Anymore then I believe Old Man Dickerson from down the street who’s been sitting at the bar since 5:30 PM knows the words.
And yet, this December 31, when the clock strikes twelve, we’ll hear the first lazy notes of Auld Lang Syne, more than likely courtesy of Kenny G, and we’ll intertwine arms, warbling together, eyes closed, singing along as if the words to this song are as well known to us as Jesus Loves Me This I Know.
And we’ll all do such a good job of faking it, that we’ll look around, and swear everyone knows the words. But us.