I have one hundred shot glasses,
And only some of them are mine.
They're souvenirs from trips long past;
Memories that do not belong to me,
But which have been placed into my care.
One hundred times you thought of me,
One hundred times someone bought
A fragile little thing only to carry it
One hundred miles or more,
And then give it away.
I have one hundred shot glasses,
Sitting up on my shelf.
Twinkling in the sunlight,
They welcome me home each day.
I have one hundred memories,
And not all of them are mine.
