Capo on 7th Fret

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Did the wine make her dream Of the far distant spring 

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Or a bed full of hens Or the ghost of a friend 

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All the while that she wept She had a gun by her bed 

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And a letter he wrote From a dry, foundered boat 

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And the train track will take All the wounded ones home 

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And Ill be alone Fare thee well Sara Jones 

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Now we lie on the floor While the radio war 

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Finds its way through the air Of the dead market square 


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And the beast never seen Licks its red talons clean 

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Sara curses the cold 

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"No more snow, no more snow, no more snow"