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I’ve got it all to myself now Crack the window just a hair Dark and close, the way I like it Black tobacco chokes the air I keep to myself, I lack the language I measure out my life with coffee grounds The trees are the color of ashes In Charlemagne’s home town I said I didn’t fear the distance As if I’d ever been that tough I can hear your voice across the water But that’s nowhere near enough Won’t you fly across that ocean Take a train on down Because the night’s growing lonesome In Charlemagne’s home town The fortune teller told me nothing That I wouldn’t have found out on my own She read my palm and she took my money She looked at me with eyes of stone She said the odds are long and stacked against us Still we try because we must To keep from leaving our senses Long forgotten in the dust Like the bones of some saint Beneath a church floor Who must have died for lack of light The color snapshots I sent you All came out in black and white There’s a lonely child on a snow white pony On a carousel in the market place He sits on that horse and he looks right through me A shadow falls across his face What will I do when my glass is empty What will I do when it all comes down What will I do when it comes to nothing In Charlemagne’s home town Please fill in the fields below and click SUBMIT to send it to your friend.
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