Old friend Jöge, lifted high,
On New Year’s Eve beneath the sky,
You greet the dusk’s warm, sticky hand –
No frosted air across our land.
Still, dinner jackets, black and bold,
We gather, feeling young – not old.
You’ve been our wit since days of yore,
When Sydney hummed with hopes galore.
The beers we spilled, the nights we cheered,
The wildest tales we engineered –
And women, laughter on their lips,
Who truly sent us on a trip.
Remember, Jöge, those burning eyes
That outshone even midnight skies?
Brave hearts that raced and words we said,
The memories whirl inside our heads.
Those glances, sweet as summer’s heat –
Their magic now, no less complete.
In heatwaves rolling off the street,
We’d sweep our sweat and take a seat,
Dressed to the nines, a roguish crew,
To drink to times we barely knew –
Raise brimming steins, salute the night,
And toast our misspent youth’s delight.
Our laughter echoed down the years,
So many dreams chased with our peers.
We’d drink to wildness, mistakes made,
To friendships that would never fade –
Each sip a souvenir, a spark,
Of fevered nights and bright remarks.
With every song from records old,
The stories – often grandly told –
We’d toast to women who bewitched,
To every plan and plot we stitched.
The ballroom sparkle in their eyes;
We knew then we were truly alive.
Through Sydney’s heat, New Year’s would flame,
And still our ritual stayed the same:
Tuxedoed jest, a glance askew,
A round for friends we barely knew.
And in your skull, our spirits swim –
Both hope and folly to the brim.
We wore away our folly’s edge
With one exception: whiskey’s pledge.
Long gone are days of family ties
Except my uncle’s Paris skies –
A survivor’s strength I keep in mind,
As time and distance intertwine.
The years roll on, the world moves fast,
Yet you, dear Jöge, hold us fast.
A silent witness, grinning wide,
To every story told with pride.
You keep our secrets, shield our shame,
And gladly toast us all the same.
Now as the fireworks light the night,
We hold you high, grip each other tight –
Old friends, new faces, all in line
To taste the past in heady wine.
We drink to girls who turned our heads,
To dreams half-lived and words unsaid.
So here’s to heat and here’s to suits,
To wild times in dinner suits.
Here’s to the years, the friends, the jest,
To Jöge – truly, you are the best.
For though the sun still scorches through,
We find our youth restored in you.
