Text: Nanci Griffith. The Last Of The True Believers. Banks Of The Pontchartrain.

I'm goin' back where my garden blooms all year
Where the wintertime speaks softly in the fallin' rain
I'm goin' back to my green eyed lover there
And we will dance along the banks of old Lake Pontchartrain

Oh, I've grown pale beneath the streets of Montreal
Where the voices ring like bells in French-Canadian
And the rivers stand imprisoned till the thaws
I am alone at night and dream of my own Pontchartrain

[Chorus:]
Take me to the station... I am late to catch my southbound train
Oh, I'm gonna call my cousin Libby
She will be waiting by the tracks when I roll in
I'm gonna roll across America
Just to stand beside my Pontchartrain again

These old rails shake like thunder through the night
Soon I'll have my green eyed lover's arms to comfort me
Oh, I can see my cousin Libby by his side
Her hair will flow in waves like on Lake Pontchartrain

[Chorus]

I'm goin' back where my garden blooms all year
Where the wintertime speaks softly in the fallin' rain
I'm goin' back to my green eyed lover there
And we will dance along the banks of old Lake Pontchartrain
Yes, we will dance along the banks of old Lake Pontchartrain
We will dance along the banks of old Lake Pontchartrain
And here comes the train