There’s an old man at the corner with a glass of amber fire, and his coat smells faintly of rain and old guitar wire. He has played the blues in doorways, he has slept beneath the moon, but tonight he starts a-smiling when the fiddle finds the tune. Oh, pour me one more whiskey, let the tavern lanterns shine, for I see her in the golden glass and her laughing eyes in mine. She’s the song behind my heartbeat, she’s the warmth inside the cold, and I’d trade a king’s own treasure just to hold her hand to hold. Now the banjo’s getting braver, and the floor begins to shake, and the barman says, old fellow, that’s the third one you will take. But I’m not drinking for sorrow, and I’m not drinking to forget, I’m just raising up a memory of the sweetest woman yet. Oh, pour me one more whiskey, let the tavern lanterns shine, for I see her in the golden glass and her laughing eyes in mine. She’s the song behind my heartbeat, she’s the warmth inside the cold, and I’d trade a king’s own treasure just to hold her hand to hold. I have known the muddy river, I have known the midnight train, I have sung for half a dollar in the wind and in the rain. But no road has ever carried such a fire through my chest, as the thought of her beside me when the old songs take their rest. So clap your hands, my brothers, let the fiddle climb the wall, for love can make an old man young and whiskey help him fall. If she heard me through the doorway, I would stand up straight and true, and I’d sing her all my foolish heart with a pub song made brand new. Oh, pour me one more whiskey, let the tavern lanterns shine, for I see her in the golden glass and her laughing eyes in mine. She’s the song behind my heartbeat, she’s the warmth inside the cold, and I’d trade a king’s own treasure just to hold her hand to hold. Oh, pour me one more whiskey, let the whole room sing along, for an old bluesman is dreaming and his dream has turned to song.
