There was an old sailor in Soulard,
Drinking rum, sighing blues on guitar.
A red-hair, long-legged girl by the bar,
Sipping her tonic and smoking cigars.
His songs smell the barrels of rum,
Smuggled dark nights from Siam,
They sing of that beach in Hawaii,
That girl turning woman without any cry,
His songs wake every shore in the night,
In each port was a woman, for each woman a fight,
A love for each woman, a scar for each love,
His songs smell powder, gin, rye and cigars,
The girl crossing legs, her bright eyes staring far,
This song is for sailors who end up in Soulard.


1998