(Mallett)
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He was stranded in some tiny town on fair Prince Edward Isle,
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awaiting for a ship to come and find him
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A one-horse place, a friendly face, some coffee and a tiny trace
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of fiddling in the distance far behind him.
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A dime across the counter, then, a shy hello, a brand new friend.
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A walk along the street in the wintry weather.
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A yellow light, an open door, a welcome friend, there's room for more,
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And then they're standing there inside together.
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He said I've heard that tune before somewhere, but I can't remember when.
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Was it on some other friendly shore or did I hear it on the wind?
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Was it written on the sky above? I think I heard it from someone I love,
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but I never heard it sound so sweet since then
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Now his feet begin to tap, a little boy says I'll take your hat.
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He's caught up in the magic of her smile.
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And leap, the heart inside him went, and off across the floor he sent
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his clumsy body graceful as a child.
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He said there's magic in the fiddler's arm, there's magic in this town.
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There's magic in the dancers' feet and the way they put them down.
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People smiling everywhere, boots and ribbons, locks of hair,
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and laughter and old blue suits and Easter gowns.
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Now the sailor's gone, the room is bare, the old piano's sitting there,
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someone's hat's left hanging on the rack.
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And empty chairs, the wooden floor that feels the touch of shoes no more,
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awaiting for the dancers to come back.
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And the fiddle's in the closet of some daughter of the town.
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The strings are broke and the bow is gone and the cover's buttoned down.
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But sometimes on December nights, when the air is cold and the wind is right,
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There's a melody that passes through this town.
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The Ballad Of St. Anne's Reel
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| John Denver |
