adventures in dysthymia

Friday, November 12, 2004

KNOWING THE BLUES

Maybe you don't know
what the blues can do;
maybe you don't know
how they fill your soul
with the cold, cold night.

If I sing the blues,
give me Billie's voice--
the night was in her soul,
oh yes, the darkest night
no neon could send packing.

No lover, no high can fill
a hole that deep, that empty.
No frantic empty hours
of dancing and drinking can warm
your desperate, deep-down chill.

You don't know the blues, kid,
haven't lived the blues.
Haven't heard the wind
sing them through the endless
hours of the night.

Stephen Brooke ©2004

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