Old Harold and the Moon's Echo

4am sunday morning they broke into song unable to contain their smiles they cast aside the spent wine and took their ribald song to the streets with a fanfare of sound and light like jesters of old they painted smiles on the frowning old men and placed rainbows over the bridges between the carpets of the mighty and the halls of fable by 5am they had made it all the way in to the center of town where a roadblock of uniforms thought to make sense out of tealeaves and mint cookies as the jesters just dance around their confusions between their orders and what the truth of the heart tells em is the song and then we see the ugly show a pretty eye to the cause as it marches in through the double dawn one dawn for the sun the other for the hearts of the lonely and a secret one for me and her in our lounge chairs by the top of the spike hill kissing our sweet hearts to eachother by 10am all but the most die-hard had fallen to dreaming sweetly neath the juniper trees while thouse few who clung to awakened hearts sang softly and sweetly of summer nights and fresh loves unearthed from the ashes of the desperate pasts all things made anew from all the things made old by sunday evening we had all danced all the dances and kissed all the kisses till even the heat of passion couldn't fade held eachothers hands and smiled sweetly like memory's saying fare thee well till morrow i would be crazy if it weren't for your hand in mine here in the tropical sundown sunday night so deep and the only one left dancing is old harold he's doing the charleston with the moon's echo on the waves of the sea don't think he's ever been so happy and as i drift off to sleep with her in my arms i know that i don't need to explain to anyone that we are all jesters looking for a song to dance to at 4am in the tropics