Take me back to the ochre-coloured towns
When you were 20, I was 21
And we left the city to its own devices for a while
Just one last summer then we'll knuckle down
Hand in hand, we hugged for warmth on midnight ferries and
I skimmed the guidebook and you drank tax-free red wine
I picked up lines from dated phrasebooks and
You took a biro and sketched out maps of the Beaujolais lanes
Where the tailbacks run for miles
Another vineyard and another chance
To identify complexity, expressiveness and taste
From the Côte de Brouilly to the distant look on your face
And gradually our June vacation
Lost its sense of anticipation somehow
With every swirl and taste and savour
Well I could sense you drifting further away
And across the scattered towns
The connoisseurs and wind-swept tourists
Pursue a true perfection with a smile
As the tears run down the glass
The wine you drink straight from the vineyard
Will fade as winter months draw nearer
Replaced with every year
The wood-smoke has gone to our heads
Now you're heading back to the city and I am lost in the Beaujolais lanes
As the celebrations fade
I was 22 then, you seem years away
Just as anyone in marketing can speak a simple spiel
When something's new, it's got a raw appeal
Then with time, we start to see a clearer picture
Perceptions shift and attractions alter
And I can taste wine with objective rigour
I speak the language and everything's crystal clear
Across the scattered towns
The connoisseurs and wind-swept tourists
Pursue a true perfection with a smile
As the tears run down the glass
The wine you drink straight from the vineyard
Will fade as winter months draw nearer
Replaced with every year
The wood-smoke has gone to our heads
Now you're heading back to the city and I'll
Go aimlessly stumbling back
Back through the Beaujolais Lanes