Lyrics
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