Bags full of dill weed and pears from the Volga

Lebanese rolled on the back of Revolver

Apple cakes cool

While the rag children wait

Their mother is out at the store

Sweet Georgian wine takes its turn round the room

Drunken monks singing and trying to tune

A plywood guitar

Found buried beneath

A pile of shoes at the door

You’re leaving tomorrow

But you don’t know what for

Singing the last song

Of the last encore

Hallways being blessed with another year’s grace

Fixing your eyes on the icons sad face

That drifts in the smoke

And the alcohol trance

Till another has taken its place

Shake your head slow turning back to the room

Drunken monks sing to a red army tune

Changing each word

While the grandmothers dance

And the old song sinks without trace

You’re leaving tomorrow

But you don’t know what for

Singing the last song

Of the last encore

Gloss painted hallways and double steel doorways

Carpathian blue and Brittany grey

Butterfly lands

On the microphone stand

On the cold midnight cellar bar floor

And everyone knows it’s the end of the line

As your singing the last verse of wild mountain thyme

It’ll all stay the same

In the last note’s sustain

But you won’t be here anymore

You’re leaving tomorrow

But you don’t know what for

Singing the last song

Of the last encore