Superior stretches for miles on all sides
It's even got ebb and flo tides
But I feel so 'less than' and frantic
As you flee across the Atlantic.

There you go, globe-trotting again
I dream of the places you've been
Sitting here in my favorite booth
I'm drinking again in Duluth.

Icier than my whiskey and soda
It's cold, oh, so cold in Minnesota
The whiskey my once-sober throat burns
In ice cubes my once-sober world turns.

Damn, why couldn't I be in France?
At least there I might have a chance
To make you come scurrying home
Instead of going to ruins in Rome.

But whom do I think I am kidding
You know that I'd do your bidding
If you wanted me in on the fun
I'd be there, next flight, in London.

The waitress, of course, goes by Ruth
She's losing the bloom of her youth
As I watch her get long in the tooth
I'm drinking again in Duluth.

Why don't you just tell me the truth
The reason you left me with Ruth
Sipping Old Fashioneds in my booth
Is I'm drinking again in Duluth.

You said you would call when you can
They have phones, don't they, in Japan?
With each drink I'm getting much older
As the weather outside grows colder.

Their nature goes way past uncouth
Two youths making out hot in the booth
With me drinking Old Fashioneds, forsooth
I'm drinking again in Duluth.

The best I can do in my booth
To tell you the God-honest truth
Is order sweet Italian vermouth
And dream of my Sweet Bird of Youth.
© 2004 by Michael J. Farrand

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