Talking Dragon

Lyrics © 1985 Stephen Savitzky. CC-by-nc-sa. Music: Talking Blues (traditional arr. Savitzky)

Lyrics [pdf] [txt] [cho]

	G	C
	The other night I	had this dream

	D7
	I was just somebody's fantasy.

	G	C
So I	went to a soothsayer,	very next day

	D7
To	see what kind of sooth he would say.

	G
	He said it was a bad dream

	C
	Wouldn't worry about it, though...

	D7
	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

fifty-fifty.

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.