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They brought me a beautiful basket of fruit |
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And two finger bowls of glass |
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The couch is gold with a floral design |
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And the wine is Germany's best |
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And the wine is Germany's best |
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My thoughts drift ino the frozen night |
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Frankfurt is covered with snow |
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And numbly they ride on an icy wind |
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To places they're longing to go |
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To places they're longing to go |
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I remember the tall dark Irish rose |
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Who held me in my limousine |
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And slept with me under a burgundy quilt |
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With sheets of silk in between |
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Well, anyway, that's how it seemed |
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I thought I wanted to marry him |
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His face was sculpted by God |
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His words were gentle and ever so true |
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And soft as the Irish fog |
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And lost in the Irish fog |
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I remember the boy from the monastery |
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Who wanted to be a monk |
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But he brought flowers and wine to my room |
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And we both got happily drunk |
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And we both got perfectly drunk |
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He laughed like the chimes of a silver bell |
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His eyes were alexandrite blue |
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He danced the t'ai chi with the grace of a deer |
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And I wanted to marry him too |
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Yes I wanted to marry him too |
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There was that son of a dog from the Tennessee hills |
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Kept telling me I was still young |
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He spoke in pure southern and smoothed out the lines |
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Round my eyes saying I was the one |
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Forever that I'd be the one |
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He drank and he cussed and he wrote his own songs |
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He was very much on the go |
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We followed each other for over a year |
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I couldn't have married him though |
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So we just lived in sin on the road |
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There was that black eyed beauty from Boston town |
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Two days were never too long |
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He stood by the mirror and picked out a rose |
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But I already wrote him a song |
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Yes, I already wrote him a song |
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So here I sit with my basket of fruit |
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And two finger bowls of glass |
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I finished my bottle of Germany's best |
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And concluded my thoughts on the past |
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That love is a pain in the ass |
