I went down to old Joe's bar room, on the corner by the square
Well, the drinks were bein' served as usual, and this motley crowd was there
Well, on my left stood Joe McKennedy, and his eyes were bloodshot red
When he told me that sad story, these were the words he said:
I went down to the St. James infirmary, I saw my baby there
She was stretched out on a long white table, so cold, and fine, and fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her, wherever she may be
She can search this world over, never find another man like me
When I die Oh lord please bury me In my high top stetson hat
Put gold coins over my eyelids So the boys will know I died standing pat
Get six crapshooting pallbearers Six chorus girls to sing me a song
Put a jazz band behind my hearse wagon To raise hell as we roll along
Get sixteen coal black horses, to pull that rubber tired hack
There's thirteen men going to the graveyard Only twelve men are coming back
Well, now you've heard my story, well, have another round of booze
And if anyone should ever, ever ask you, I've got the St. James infirmary blues!

St. James Infirmary, folk song (rec: Triffids version)

Sculpture by Christian Lemmerz