They brought me a beautiful basket of fruit and two finger bowls of glass.The couch is gold with a floral design, and the wine is Germany's best.Sort of like gallop.And the wine is Germany's best.My thoughts drift into the frozen night.Frankfurt is covered with snow.And numbly they ride on an icy wind to places they're longing to go.To places they're longing to go.I remember the tall dark Irish rose who held me in my limousine.And slept with me under a burgundy quilt with sheets of silk in between.Well anyway, that's how it seemed.I thought I wanted to marry him.His face was sculpted by God.His words were gentle and never so true.And soft as the Irish fog.And lost in the Irish fog.I remember the boy from the monastery who wanted to be a monk.But he brought flowers and wine to my room and we both got happily drunk.And we both got perfectly drunk.He laughed like the chimes of a silver bell.His eyes were alexanderite blue.He danced the tai chi with the grace of a deer.And I wanted to marry him too.Yeah, I wanted to marry him too.There was that son of a dog from the Tennessee hills.Kept telling me I was still young.He spoke in pure southern and smoothed out the lines around my eyes.Saying I was the one.Forever that I'd be the one.He drank and he cussed and he wrote his own songs.He was very much on the go.We followed each other for over a year.I couldn't have married him though.He just lived in sin on the road.You ought to hear the ones I left out.There was that black eyed beauty from Boston town.Two days were never too long.He stood by the mirror and picked out the rose.But I already wrote him a song.Yeah, I already wrote him a song.So here I sit with my basket of fruit and two finger bowls of glass.I finished my bottle of Germany's best.And concluded my thoughts on the past.That love is a pain in the ass.