I’ve got it all to myself now 

Crack the window just a hair 

Dark and close, the way I like it 

Black tobacco chokes the air 

I keep to myself, I lack the language 

I measure out my life with coffee grounds 

The trees are the color of ashes 

In Charlemagne’s home town 



I said I didn’t fear the distance 

As if I’d ever been that tough 

I can hear your voice across the water 

But that’s nowhere near enough 



Won’t you fly across that ocean 

Take a train on down 

Because the night’s growing lonesome 

In Charlemagne’s home town 



The fortune teller told me nothing 

That I wouldn’t have found out on my own 

She read my palm and she took my money 

She looked at me with eyes of stone 



She said the odds are long and stacked against us 

Still we try because we must 

To keep from leaving our senses 

Long forgotten in the dust 



Like the bones of some saint 

Beneath a church floor 

Who must have died for lack of light 

The color snapshots I sent you 

All came out in black and white 



There’s a lonely child on a snow white pony 

On a carousel in the market place 

He sits on that horse and he looks right through me 

A shadow falls across his face 

What will I do when my glass is empty 

What will I do when it all comes down 

What will I do when it comes to nothing 

In Charlemagne’s home town