The Beacon

The car stops
In the parking lot
And there it is
Our Camelot
The frosted windows. The Holsten neon
The wooden sign above that bears a poor rendition
The lighthouse. The freehouse
The Beacon

Martini logo
Masks the reflection
And there it is
Our very own round table
And oh, the gang's all here!
And it's all "Where you been" and "Come pull up a chair
But first... get in the beers"
Yeah, it figures

(The gang's all here!)
There's Mickey, Bob and Raymond
Three kings with crumbling kingdoms
They can barely stand
But still they're studying the form
Cheering on their warriors
And they're cursing their lost wars
Generous with time and wine
To recruit you to their cause

(The gang's all here!)
There's good-old-good-time Brenda
Quick with a laugh and an innuendo
She knows her door is closed...
Or ajar at the very best
She still remembers rolling
Keeps that fire within her breast
Oh the things that she could teach
To unwary weary travellers!

The gang's all here!

And that means... oh god, she's here
And there she is... my Guinevere

She is a beacon. She is a siren
(I can barely contain my excitement)
The girl who is forever
And she's bathed in the light from the Wurlitzer
And it's Marley, 10cc and Free
Every. Single. Time
I never could quite fathom it
But I loved her all the more for it
Those same three same old choices
A part of our folklore

From the crowd
A roar!
And there he is
Holding court
As it ever was
As it's ever been
Pint in hand and spewing forth all manner of grand schemes
Our Glenn. Our Djinn
Our king