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SWEET SIR GALAHAD |
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(Words and Music by Joan Baez) |
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Sweet Sir Galahad |
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came in through the window |
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in the night when |
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the moon was in the yard. |
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He took her hand in his |
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and shook the long hair |
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from his neck and he told her |
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she'd been working much too hard. |
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It was true that ever since the day |
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her crazy man had passed away |
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to the land of poet's pride, |
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she laughed and talked alot |
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with new people on the block |
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but always at evening time she cried. |
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And here's to the dawn of their days. |
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She moved her head |
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a little down on the bed |
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until it rested softly on his knee. |
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And there she dropped her smile |
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and there she sighed awhile, |
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and told him all the sadness |
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of those years that numbered three. |
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Well you know I think my fate's belated |
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because of all the hours I waited |
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for the day when I'd no longer cry. |
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I get myself to work by eight |
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but oh, was I born too late, |
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and do you think I'll fail |
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at every single thing I try? |
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And here's to the dawn of their days. |
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He just put his arm around her |
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and that's the way I found her |
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eight months later to the day. |
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The lines of a smile erased |
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the tear tracks upon her face, |
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a smile could linger, even stay. |
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Sweet Sir Galahad went down |
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with his gay bride of flowers, |
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the prince of the hours |
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of her lifetime. |
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And here's to the dawn |
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of their days, |
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of their days. |
