There was a pool table there at the wedding
|
That most of the men stood and played
|
Whilst the women danced in their melancholy
|
Till the last record started to fade
|
And as D.J. turned the lights up
|
And packed his records away
|
He noticed a lonely figure still there
|
So quietly turned to say
|
|
Tears you thought lasted a lifetime
|
Won¡¯t last too much more than a day
|
And you¡¯ll prove that you still have your strength left
|
When you wipe those tears well away, well away
|
|
Roses in garden bring joy to the bleak
|
Lilies save wretched from worse
|
Music lifts up those too weary to speak
|
So, sister you sing the next verse
|
|
The path in life that you have taken
|
I can figure out just from your frown
|
Either it¡¯s down the up escalator
|
Or maybe sometimes up the down
|
And you may not feel that you have travelled
|
But sure as hell been across town
|
And certainly if story unravelled
|
You¡¯ve lost more than you ever found
|
|
One thing¡¯s for certain I¡¯ve travelled
|
And a not too dissimilar route
|
Those ups and downs and rounds after rounds
|
You¡¯re wearing them just like a suit, like a suit
|
|
So if roses bring joy to the bleak
|
Lilies save wretched from worse
|
Music lifts up those too weary to speak
|
Then D.J. I¡¯ll take the next verse
|
|
|
So sister judge strength not by muscle
|
Or weight that your body can lift
|
But by heavyweight heart that you carry
|
That no other young woman could shift
|
Hey Mr D.J. a special request
|
Play that last record for me
|
And make it as long and as painfully sad
|
As any slow ballad could be
|
|
-----------------
|
The Next Verse
|
| The Beautiful South |
