From the recording The Season
A great song written by the late, great John Prine. RIP, Sir.
Cover photo taken by Kerik Kouklis in Hokkaido, Japan in February 2020
Lyrics
Christmas in Prison - John Prine
It was Christmas in prison
And the food was real good
We had turkey and pistols
Carved out of wood
And I dream of her always
Even when I don't dream
Her name's on my tongue
And her blood's in my stream
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothin' on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
She reminds me of a chess game
With someone I admire
Or a picnic in the rain
After a prairie fire
Her heart is as big
As this whole goddamn jail
And she's sweeter than saccharine
At a drug store sale
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothin' on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God
The search light in the big yard
Swings 'round with the gun
And spotlights the snowflakes
Like the dust in the sun
It's Christmas in prison
There'll be music tonight
I'll probably get homesick
I love you, goodnight
Wait awhile eternity
Old mother nature's got nothin' on me
Come to me
Run to me
Come to me, now
We're rolling
My sweetheart
We're flowing
By God