Old World Red

Old World Red

Under your pitched tent
I roll out my bed

It’s just a pad under my head
But it’s my place to rest

The cloth’s aroma of old world reds
Brings to me a dispel of dread

And my pockets are filled
With ticket stubs and coins

My coveralls jingle
With memory of the thrill

Laying down
Asking why
We’re back to the old world

We set up camp away from town
We can see the lights far away

When we pack up once again
We reignite the thrill once more

Laying down
On a bed
Of old world reds

So many questions represented
When ticket stubs are presented

To punch into the festival
The theaters of live music

We walked for days
With the tent of old world reds

Lighting the bonfires for warmth
Cooking out every night

Setting down the things we needed
To rest for a moment

Passing lakes and camel trains
In the land of pure amusement

Sitting under statues in meadows
Of the ones who came before us

Looking at the zodiac light and
Listening to morning birds sing

Rolling out our beds
Pitching your tent
Of old world reds

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