Bags full of dill weed and pears from the Volga Lebanese rolled on the back of Revolver Apple cakes cool While the rag children wait Their mother is out at the store Sweet Georgian wine takes it’s turn round the room Drunken monk’s singing and trying to tune A plywood guitar Found buried beneath A pile of shoes at the door
You’re leaving tomorrow But you don’t know what for Singing the last song Of the last encore
Hallways being blessed with another year’s grace Fixing your eyes on the icons sad face That drifts in the smoke And the alcohol trance Till another has taken it’s place Shake your head slow turning back to the room Drunken monk sing to a red army tune Changing each word While the grandmother’s dance And the old song sinks without trace
Gloss painted hallways and double steel doorways Carpathian blue and Brittany grey Butterfly lands On the microphone stand On the cold midnight cellar bar floor And everyone knows it’s the end of the line As your singing the last verse of wild mountain thyme It’ll all stay the same In the last note’s sustain But you won’t be here anymore