Drinking bourbon in Richmond, Kentucky,
Contemplating the square root of fo',
Or perhaps all this math is just flogging
In the night, when the silver moon glows.

Drinking bourbon, I think of you, dear,
And the bluegrass that everywhere grows,
Drinking bourbon, I think that I hear
Distant mandolins deep in my soul.

Drinking bourbon in Richmond, Kentucky,
I don't know what else I can do,
I'm just a drunk poet and lucky
To have met someone pretty like you.

I can hear the mountains calling,
Let the mandolins play until dawn,
And I can't keep my tears from falling,
For tomorrow this dream will be gone.

                                    October 13, 1996
                                 --Alexander Shaumyan