Let my inspiration flow
|
in token lines suggesting rhythm
|
that will not forsake me
|
till my tale is told and done
|
|
While the firelight's aglow
|
strange shadows in the flames will grow
|
till things we've never seen
|
will seem familiar
|
|
Shadows of a sailor forming
|
winds both foul and fair all swarm
|
down in Carlisle he loved a lady
|
many years ago
|
|
Here beside him stands a man
|
a soldier by the looks of him
|
who came through many fights
|
but lost at love
|
|
While the storyteller speaks
|
a door within the fire creaks
|
suddenly flies open
|
and a girl is standing there
|
|
Eyes alight with glowing hair
|
all that fancy paints as fair
|
she takes her fan and throws it
|
in the lion's den
|
|
"Which of you to gain me, tell
|
will risk uncertain pains of Hell?
|
I will not forgive you
|
if you will not take the chance"
|
|
The sailor gave at least a try
|
the soldier being much too wise
|
strategy was his strength
|
and not disaster
|
|
The sailor coming out again
|
the lady fairly lept at him
|
that's how it stands today
|
you decide if he was wise
|
|
The storyteller makes no choice
|
soon you will not hear his voice
|
his job is to shed light
|
and not to master
|
|
Since the end is never told
|
we pay the teller off in gold
|
in hopes he will come back
|
but he cannot be bought or sold
|
|
-----------------
|
Terrapin Station: Lady With A Fan
|
| Grateful Dead |
