Barbara Allen's Grave Songtext

I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen's grave

One Armed charlie just came from the Clark
And he stands on the benches to speak
To the transient chorus who heckle politely
As the pigeons walk over his feet
As he talks about being stuck under Boston
Twelve years ago on the train
And gives me a nod because I was there with him
He was the one who told me your name
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen's grave

Mr. Sherringford is a very clean man
Except for his yellow teeth you know
As he sat in the diner singing Clark Street carols
You might even say that they glowed
I know that he'll give me the details I need But getting out of hear could be hard
No one leaves this diner at this time of night
Without beating Mr. Sherringford at cards
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen's grave

I dream at night of violins And dance halls long since closed
You come running out the side exit wearing A brown jacket over your clothes
Turning to look at me just for a second Every night it's the same
I wake up lying in a near north side bed Before I can call out your name

The last time I saw you there were two dead leaves
Stuck to the side of of your face
You hurried down Archer Avenue
Towards the Resurrection cemetery gates
You looked as cold as Russian winter
As I watched you slowly disappear
The gloves you were wearing fell to the ground
But I've got them for you here
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen's grave