You're nothin', fool. Illusion
is the cross you hang upon. Buddha,
Allah, Jah Rastafari, and Jesus.
No one hears or cares. Open your throat to the desert,
unholy soul, broke, joker who played
his final hand. Now you fold,
dressed like a crow,
black as Ma Rainey's bottom, blessed,
fucked up, pill drunk and pussy stoned,
but where's the love?
No wonder... I got the blues.
No wonder... I got the blues.
Gather no moss, slippery stone,
roll over the precipice down into the pit.
This is it, your home. Regrets,
but you made it your own.
Bustin' with things of bling,
but fallin', old shack empty.
Her scent lingers, hangs
like death in the afternoon.
Time's a'tickin',
but not on your side.
No wonder... I got the blues.
No wonder... I got the blues.
You're Sisyphus trying
to move the boulder, no closer
to Midnight, then Dawn
punches you
in the solar plexus,
Love dog bark, and Love dog bite.
Hole in the sky,
hole of holes. Bye-bye.
I bet You didn't know
so many ways to feel it.
No wonder... I got the blues.
No wonder... I got the blues.
