There’s a Golden Chair by the River Leven
I sometimes sit on it, a touch of Heaven
Or for coming down like Kris Kristofferson
After a night in the spirit of Warren Zevon

I hadn’t told anyone that it does exist
For a deep estate secret Rosshead wish
Empty so no one else, you get the gist
A golden thought sanctuary and a silver fish

Its never yellow its always golden
A Tutankhamen shadow in the sun
People walk bye as if its a given
A spell spun and cast on the River Leven

It wasn’t there before that I can remember
Only appeared Autumn or was it last September
I go there now everyday or when I’m feeling low
Water watches takes its time then leaves me alone.

I was sitting there thinking it through
The way Ernest Hemingway would never do
Plot filtered through some special brew
Then the hook a couplet caught brand new

Your on the bench this time its overdue
Past local lads appear of course they do
Their words sooth most cos there true
To the Pale Ale, the Milburn and you