The sound of a Dixieland band reminds him of a garden where
The old ladies sit in the shade and flutter their fans
All gathered together to gossip like a bunch of old colonels
And charm the swans from the ponds with lily-white hands
And is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear?
Is it the ghost of the lady that I'm dying to see?
Or is it the ether that makes these echoes that I hear?
Well the lady is still a lady to me
Growing up reckless some place on the edge of the city
Learning to take danger as a matter of course not concern
What's the difference if there ain't no lights in the alley
When you're so down and alone that you got no place to turn
Is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear?
Is it the ghost of the lady I'm dying to see?
Is it the ether that makes these footsteps in my ear?
Well an alley is only an alley to me
The lady is still a part of my memory.
Is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear?
Is it the ghost of the lady I'm dying to see?
Or is it the ether that makes these footsteps in my ear?