Late November

	  		

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The wine it was drunk, the ship it was sunk, 
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The shot it was dead, all the sorrows were drowned. 
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The birds they were clouds, the brides and the shrouds 
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And as we drew south the mist it came down. 

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The wooded ravine to the wandering stream, 
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The serpent he moved, but no-one would say. 
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The depths of the waters, the bridge which distraught us 
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And brought to me thoughts of the ill-fated day. 

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The temples were filled with the strangest of creatures 
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One played it by ear on the banks of the sea. 
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That one was found but the others they went under. 
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Oh the tears which are shed, they wonâ??t come from me. 

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The methods of madness, the pathos and the sadness, 
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God help you all, the insane and wise. 
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The black and the white, the darkness of the night, 
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I see only smoke from the chimneys arise. 

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The pilot he flew all across the sky and woke me. 
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He flew solo on the mercury sea. 
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The dream it came back, all about the tall brown people, 
    C            G           F          A 
The sacred young herd on the phosphorus sand.