Capo na 12? casa

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Did the wine make her dream 
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Of the far distant spring 
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Or a bed full of hens 
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Or the ghost of a friend 


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All the while that she wept 
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She had a gun by her bed 
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And a letter he wrote 
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From a dry, foundered boat 
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And the train track will take 
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All the wounded ones home 
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And I?ll be alone 
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Fare thee well Sara Jones 


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Now we lie on the floor 
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While the radio war 
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Finds its way through the air 
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Of the dead market square 


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And the beast never seen 
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Licks it?s red talons clean 
      G5         D5
Sara curses the cold 
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"No more snow, no more snow, no more snow"