Almost Beautiful

Over the weekend I walked into town to pick up the car we had left the night before. It was early in the morning and halfway there a snow storm brewed. I walked on drenched and half frozen, wishing I'd kept to my bed. I was acompanied part of the way by a group of young girls in high heels, short skirts and vodka bottles. We walked past a number of guys sleeping in doorways - one of them was clutching a guitar . . .

Almost Beautiful

I was cold and wet and wan
You were hot and hyped and high.
And you glistened in the morning mist
With that boldness in your eye

And you were almost,
Almost beautiful
I was almost,
Almost gone.
Still,Your high heels tracked
Across the road
And you begged me
For a song.

How could i refuse you,
All legs and eyes and else ?
So I kicked away my cardboard bed,
Yawned and shook myself

Now I don't sport my guitar
On wild, wet winter morns,
But I opened up that Martin case
And struck an Eb chord.

Right there I saw you shiver,
Right there I saw you shake
And you closed your eyes and danced
To the music that I made.

And I played until the stars fled
You danced away your pain.
I played until my fingers bled,
Till night came round again

And I woke to find me in your bed
Washed and dry and warm
And I'm wonderin' do I get to stay
Or should I be wanderin' on?