Irene

I showed Irene where the trouble was
And she don’t write me still
I don’t know why I’m saying
But for saying this I will
I admire the simple man
I am not as brave as him
Who goes out on the waves and them
Who roll upon the hill
Adelaine was pregnant
And Lillana Dune was dry
And all the Freds did burn their heads
When Jim began to cry
And it felt so very real to me
When Irene wandered by
So I followed her beyond the stream
Where lovers go to lie
Oh mother bring me hamentaschen
Raspberry sauce and rye
And tell me that its not so bad
To be this kind of guy
My Irene is gone a year
And still I cannot dry my tear
And still I sing goodnight to her
Beneath a weeping sky
Goodnight Irene…