Glory Of Old

I left the flat cause it felt like home

Ordered wine and sat down to write you a poem

The words came easy, the words came strong

The poem would be good, the poem would be long

Wine came but i didn't drink a sip

I just checked i had money for the wine and for the tip

Then the poem went on and about an hour past

I lit a straight and had my drink at last

Oh you, you who know me quite well

You know that i don't live where i dwell

I don't need a table, i don't need a drink

All i do need is some room to think

Given the waterfall, given the few

Anything goes, anythings coo

I take the world with its buildings and its trees

And all its swans become my geese

The river a little stream

The glory of old: a dream

But you, you who know me well enough

You know what it's all made of, it's all made of good stuff

I kissed the cutest greek little girl

She gave me some soda and a little blue pearl

I found a roman city in southern italy

And destroyed its ruins, destroyed them totally

I left a pair of black underpants

In the men's room of a bar in paris, france

I slept on the beach above the artic cercle

Woke up alive and didn't call it a miracle

But you, you who know me like nobody else does

You know it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter where i was