Franklin's Table Lyrics by Al Stewart
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Al Stewart - Franklin's Table

Dinner with Ben Franklin on Friday night
The invitation read
Of course I wrote and thanked him
I wouldn't miss it for the world I said
His table is so well kept

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
The habits of the court of France
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation

The English call it claret
And clear and red it sits inside my glass
Sent to us from Paris
A greater kindness never came to pass
We'll drink his health, with the last

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
Of almanacs and specacles
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation

Time goes by in stories
Wine goes by, dark and young
When it comes my turn here
I'll be telling one with a purple tongue

The night grows philosophic
I miss a word or two, it must be said
As I hear them talking
I sink a little keeping in my chair
Thanking the fates that brought me here

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
Of lightening and odometers
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation
Al Stewart - Franklin's Table      Dinner with Ben Franklin on Friday night    The invitation read   Of course I wrote and thanked him   I wouldn't miss it for the world I said   His table is so well kept      He plays the glass harmonica   And talks of wind and kites   The habits of the court of France   And other strange delights   Of course I've heard it all before   On other wintry nights   And yet there is no better wine or conversation      The English call it claret   And clear and red it sits inside my glass   Sent to us from Paris   A greater kindness never came to pass   We'll drink his health, with the last      He plays the glass harmonica   And talks of wind and kites   Of almanacs and specacles   And other strange delights   Of course I've heard it all before   On other wintry nights   And yet there is no better wine or conversation      Time goes by in stories   Wine goes by, dark and young   When it comes my turn here   I'll be telling one with a purple tongue      The night grows philosophic   I miss a word or two, it must be said   As I hear them talking   I sink a little keeping in my chair   Thanking the fates that brought me here      He plays the glass harmonica   And talks of wind and kites   Of lightening and odometers   And other strange delights   Of course I've heard it all before   On other wintry nights   And yet there is no better wine or conversation