Annabelle Lee (Neuwirth)

 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 their palms with their lily-white hands

 And is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear
 And is that the ghost of the lady I’m dying to see
 And is that the ether that makes these echoes that I hear
 But a lady is still a lady to me

 Growing up reckless someplace on the edge of the city
 Learning to take danger as a matter of course, not concern
 What’s the difference if there’s no light in the alley
 When you’re so down and alone you’ve got no place to turn

 And is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear
 And is that the ghost of the lady I’m dying to see
 And is that the ether that makes these footsteps that I hear
 But an alley is still an alley to me

 And the lady is still a part of my memory

 And is that the singing of Annabelle Lee that I hear
 And is that the ghost of the lady I’m dying to see
 And is that the ether that makes these echoes in my ear
 But a lady is still a lady to me

 But this lady is just a part of my memory.