Stephanie's father came here from Alsace
He bought a grey Victorian house
Filled with coloured glass

He kept his old wine bottles
In a cellar down below
On Friday nights, he'd take some out

And stand them in a row
All that he said
All of us there were tasting history

Those perfume-laden liquids
Whatever they might be
He dispensed them like a chemist

From the sixteenth century
Then leaned back in his armchair
With understated glee

While we tripped over our tongues
To trace their ancestry
All that he said

All of us there were tasting history
All through the night
In glass-filtered light, tasting history

Stephanie went to Egypt
To an excavation site
She works beneath the Pharaoh's moon

Deep into the night
Her Dad still opens Chambertin
As the candle burns away

It was the favourite of Napoleon
That's what he liked to say
All through the night

All of us there were tasting history
All through the night
In glass-filtered light, tasting history