Talking Dragon

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

Lyrics [pdf] [txt] [cho]

  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.