New Haven Green

It was September in the '70s
Three of us flying in two seats
Holding the statues of sandalwood
The airport is filled with the neighborhood
In the back of an old white ambassador
You turn a deaf ear to your father
He gave you a grand from the black market
It stayed in the glove
You would not take it
So why the words on napkins for no one to read?
It’s never been black or white
Or what we thought it would be
You carry the cases
She carries me
Tell the eight-dollar story again
Tell the eight-dollar story again
An officer in blue, he welcomed you
Gave you the key to your living room
You took up the last carry-on
And laid out on jackets on the floor
So why the words on napkins for no one to read?
It’s never been black or white
Or what we thought it would be
You carry the cases
She carries me
Tell the eight-dollar story again
Tell the eight-dollar story again
Can we go back to the New Haven Green?
Two of you turning into three
We’ll read all the letters you never sent
And make the old places new again
So why the words on napkins for no one to read?
It’s never been black or white
Or what we thought it would be
You carry the cases
She carries me
Tell the eight-dollar story
Tell the eight-dollar story
Tell me the story again