Glory Of Old

I left the flat cause it felt like home
Ordered wine and sat down to write you a poem
The words came easy, the words came strong
The poem would be good, the poem would be long
Wine came but i didn't drink a sip
I just checked i had money for the wine and for the tip
Then the poem went on and about an hour past
I lit a straight and had my drink at last
Oh you, you who know me quite well
You know that i don't live where i dwell
I don't need a table, i don't need a drink
All i do need is some room to think
Given the waterfall, given the few
Anything goes, anythings coo
I take the world with its buildings and its trees
And all its swans become my geese
The river a little stream
The glory of old: a dream
But you, you who know me well enough
You know what it's all made of, it's all made of good stuff
I kissed the cutest greek little girl
She gave me some soda and a little blue pearl
I found a roman city in southern italy
And destroyed its ruins, destroyed them totally
I left a pair of black underpants
In the men's room of a bar in paris, france
I slept on the beach above the artic cercle
Woke up alive and didn't call it a miracle
But you, you who know me like nobody else does
You know it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter where i was