Beirut - Cliquot



A plague in the workhouse

A plague on the poor now

I beat on my drum 'til I'm dead

Yesterday, fever

Tomorrow, St. Peter

I'll beat on my drum until then


What melody will lead my lover from his bed?

What melody will see him in my arms again?


Set fire the foundation

And burn out the station

You'll never get nothing of mine

The pane of my window

Will flicker and glimmer

Leave only the stitching behind


Oh, what melody will lead my lover from his bed?

What melody will see him in my arms again?


I'll sing of the walls of the well

And the house at the top of the hill

I'll sing of the bottles of wine

That we left on our old windowsill

I'll sing of the usual spin

Getting sadder and older, oh love

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