TP logo
Home | Books | Music | Events | New work | Contact & ordering

The King Comes Out Tonight
©2002 Gibbens/Weston

I fell asleep in Brighton
On a rainy Sunday evening.
I’d run into the station
To see the last train leaving.
I curled up in my parka
And watched the slow waves gleaming,
And there I finally fell asleep,
And there I fell to dreaming.

I dreamed that I was walking
Beneath a honey-coloured moon.
The southern night was scented;
I heard the alligators croon.
I heard the night-owl whistle
Beneath the twisted trees.
Everything was still and warm
And filled me with unease.

I heard the purring whine
As a long black limousine
That passed me on the highway
Pulled up silent and serene.
A dozen men climbed slowly out,
Stood waiting in a ring.
They raised their heads, they gave a shout,
And then I saw the King.

There was a supernatural light,
A figure dressed in gold and white.
He made the Mississippi darkness bright.
And then a tall man on my right
Said, What a rare and precious sight,
The King comes out tonight –
He only comes out at night.

Well that’s all right,
Mama that’s all right.
The King comes out tonight,
He only comes out at night,
Well mama that’s all right…


Back to Rockingham Street