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, Rasberry 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 weeiping sky.
