I’ve got it all to myself now   Crack the window just a hair   Dark and close, the way I like it   Black tobacco chokes the air   I keep to myself, I lack the language   I measure out my life with coffee grounds   The trees are the color of ashes   In Charlemagne’s home town       I said I didn’t fear the distance   As if I’d ever been that tough   I can hear your voice across the water   But that’s nowhere near enough       Won’t you fly across that ocean   Take a train on down   Because the night’s growing lonesome   In Charlemagne’s home town       The fortune teller told me nothing   That I wouldn’t have found out on my own   She read my palm and she took my money   She looked at me with eyes of stone       She said the odds are long and stacked against us   Still we try because we must    To keep from leaving our senses   Long forgotten in the dust       Like the bones of some saint   Beneath a church floor   Who must have died for lack of light   The color snapshots I sent you   All came out in black and white       There’s a lonely child on a snow white pony   On a carousel in the market place   He sits on that horse and he looks right through me   A shadow falls across his face   What will I do when my glass is empty   What will I do when it all comes down   What will I do when it comes to nothing   In Charlemagne’s home town