Reprise
vi
Airplane Mahogany
come riding down
while sunset strips of Fellaheen gold
laced the crystal peak mountains
with countless horizons
of woe.
We sat in the back
of my new pickup roadster
and knocked the gear shift out of whack;
while the alcoholic blare of the AM band
blew holes in my eardrums and splintered and cracked
the bottoms of my new two-toned shoes.
And Glory! Cried Orly
the Greek from the Geek Show,
as though tied to my ribbons; Don’t you know,
somebody’s got to believe; In what? Said I;
and lied to the sky,
tho’ it knew my intentions,
it wasn’t that sure who I was.
Nothin’ doin’! said Chewin’ The Fat;
as we sat in the back
of my new Ford pickup roadster.
And Golly! Said Wally,
Don’t stall anymore;
Why don’t you write them your song?
When along came a flare! From who knows where?
And shattered my brand new windshield!
Crack! Splash! Sprinkled glass—
And that was the last I heard
Of Wally, Orly or Chewin’ The Fat; as we sat in the back
of my new Ford pickup roadster.
And now, Airplane Mahogany
don’t shine like it used to;
it glitters like gold from the five-and-ten store.
And no one will meet me in the back anymore;
when I come with a scoreboard of chances;
and try to tell them the score.
And sometimes
I hear footsteps behind me and look
for Wally and Orly and Chewin’ The Fat;
but that don’t seem like a likely experience,
they’ll never be back this way again.
Coda:
And Airplane Mahogany
don’t shine like it used to;
Airplane Mahogany don’t sparkle like wine;
and Airplane Mahogany no longer sparkles
my mind.
(Curtain)
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