Tom: A
Introdução: A
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When Stephen Foster died
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in a flop-house on the Bowery
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His worn-out wallet held
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just a quarter and a dime
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But the crocodiles have to eat,
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the crocodiles have to eat
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He smashed his head on the sink
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in the bitter fever of gin
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A wildebeest gone crazy with thirst
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pulled down as he tried to drink
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But deep down in the muddy stream
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even crocodiles dream their dreams
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And as the herd galloped off
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he lay on that flophouse floor
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Singing, "Beautiful Dreamer"
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as the lions began to roar
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But we all have our beautiful dreams
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running through us like wildebeest
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And when we meet at the river
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to cross to that gleaming shore
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The river, she always takes a few
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as the herd thunders across
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But the river has oceans to feed,
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she has beautiful oceans to feed
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And the oceans they feed the sky
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and the sky feeds the earth
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And Stephen Foster's beautiful ghost
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lay down to feed a song
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To feed ten thousand songs
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echoing cross the wild plains