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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…

 

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