The party’s over, it’s time to call it a day.
They’ve burst your pretty balloon and taken
the moon away.
It’s time to wind up the masquerade.
Just make your mind up, the piper must be
paid.
The party’s over, the candles flicker and dim.
You danced and dreamed through the night,
It seemed right just being with him.
Now you must wake up, all dreams must end.
Take off your make up, the party’s over,
It’s all over, my friend.
Gstaad
The first time I heard this was back in 1956, and I was not yet 20, and it was at Merion Cricket Club, in Philadelphia, the first grass court tournament in America after Wimbledon. My host — players used to stay with club members in those innocent times — was a very good-looking tall gent and he was singing it drunkenly to his girlfriend, until his wife came down and there was a scene.
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