Talking Dragon

Lyrics © 1985 Stephen Savitzky. Creative Commons by-nc-sa License Some Rights Reserved. .
Music: Talking Blues (traditional arr. Savitzky)

The other night I had this dream 
I was just somebody's fantasy.
So I went to a soothsayer, very next day
To see what kind of sooth he would say.
     He said it was a bad dream
     Wouldn't worry about it, though...
     Who'd have enough imagination to 
    dream up a dragon.
Well, bad dreams tend to make me feel
Like it's time to find another meal,
So I set off walking down the street
Just looking for a bite to eat.
     Figured a virgin or two would 
      go down nicely.
     Getting a little hard to find, though.
     Don't seem to get as big as they used to.
Now, about five miles down the road
Was a donkey with a heavy load.
Rider and donkey both looked old,
But as I passed them I smelled gold.
     You know what gold does to a dragon?
The donkey tasted good enough
But the rider looked a little tough.
Little old guy all covered with dirt
With a bar of gold hid under his shirt.
     Little bag of jewels, too.
     Toasted him and served him with 
      melted gold sauce
     And some garnets for a garnish.
Well, I wandered back the way he'd come
To find the mine that loot came from,
And thinking of all the gold I'd get
I walked straight into a dragon net.

    (instrumental break)
Well, I couldn't run and I couldn't fly,
And they didn't get close enough to fry.
Then out came a bloke all dressed in red
Who looked me over and then he said:
     Be upstanding in court!
     The accused will now hear 
    the charges against him...
     Went on for forty-five minutes.
     Something about dragon on 
    the public highway,
     And creating a delicacy out of a miner.
They went on talking all day long
While I sat there writing my funeral song.
When the judge said ``Guilty!''
  I thought I was dead.
Then, ``Fifty years to life!'' he said.
     Stuck me here in this monastery 
    roasting pigs.
     Not a virgin around for fifty miles.
     Except some of the pigs, of course.
     Could be worse.
So now you've heard my tale of woe:
I'm stuck here fifty years or so,
But it's not as bad as it might seem--
The monks and me have a little scheme.
     You see, they're putting in a convent 
    right next door,
     And we figure we'll split the virgins 

The perpetrator wishes to acknowledge (in order): that fellow Anon, for the Talking Blues; Woodie Guthrie and Bob Dylan (for the *BAD* dream); W. C. Fields, for his definition of a virgin; a certain television series; Arlo Guthrie's forty-five minutes; and the Catholic Church.
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