i ride on the subway of summer
leaning on the jukebox of chance
wishing for an eternal quarter
to play that never ending dance

i count the little pretty pastries
from one to sixty-nine
as the cat waits at the window
meowing in double time

sir, give me a european passport
i'm sailing to the dardanelles
but the one thing that i'll remember
is the snow on her daffodils

i feel like a phony prophet
eating at my table of sin
i saw her at the crosswalk boarding
the streetcar of might have been

there was a song that made me tearful
they played it on the radio
"there's a cloud of blues in my coffee
since she decided to go"

sir, give me a european passport
i've got plenty of books to kill
but there's that one thing i'll remember:
the snow on her daffodils

we can walk through the town of forgiveness
or stay on the detour of pain
following clowns and preachers
who tie us in ribbons of rain

there is a chalkboard of confession
that i have been told about
you write on it clear and wild
without a rainbow of doubt

sir, i need a european passport
one made of shadows and pills
but, there's one thing that i'll remember:
the snow on her daffodils

it's true, love never phones you
but heartbreak calls all the time
with poetry of naked thimbles
and imported bottles of rhyme

i've slipped into a robe of salad
with dreams of tomatoes and bread
i've packed up my windows of amnesia
and everything that i've never said

sir, draw me a european passport
trace it on my curtains until
i check my bags and remember
the snow on her daffodils