10,000 Maniacs - 
Verdi Cries

The man in 119 takes his tea alone. Mornings 
we all rise to wireless Verdi cries. I'm 
hearing opera through the door. 

The souls of men and women, impassioned all. 
Their voices climb and fall; 
battle trumpets call. 

I fill the bath and climb inside, singing.
He will not touch their pastry but every day 
they bring him more. 

Gold from the breakfast tray, I steal them all 
away and then go and eat them on the shore.

I draw a jackel-headed woman in the sand, sing of 
a lover's fate sealed by jealous hate then wash my 
hand in the sea. 

With just three days more I'd have just about learned 
the entire scire to Aida. 
Holidays must end as you know.

All is memory taken home with me: the opera, the stolen 
tea, the sand drawing, the verging sea, all years ago.