posted on September 2, 2010 at 8:31 pm

torch on

a poor sad tired singer trudges into town

big city full of bright lights

got an engagement somewhere

in some infernal club

singing that same old bunch of songs

singing for a meal and a hotel room

singing for only for the lonely

with his suitcase full of blues

sitting up alone drinking a coffee

watching the city from his room

sore throat and aching feet

tatty old suit

what fucking year is this?

not now not ever

some eternal autumn

some infernal club

some endless night

standing onstage nervous and bored

praying it will begin n end quick

singing through the foggy atmosphere

the trombone slides in like mockery

the flute says i told you so

the harp and strings flutter away like an illusion

its the dead end circuit

its the cramped dressing room

its the warm martini

its the feeling anxious

the poor mans nexus

the boys out in the backroom playing cards

they dont even acknowledge him

he smiles to no one in particular

a waiter passes by

the piano comes in a ripple

the piano softly hammers

the double bass comes in changing things

the drums shuffle slightly

the singer steps to the mike

he opens his mouth

the words gather in his mind and throat

he closes his eyes

he sees her face

that face he loves

a mixture of pain n exultation

he breathes in deep


comes his voice

worn torn still a bit triumphant

whats he singing?

whats it matter?

same old song

the broken hearted slow old number bout love

the piano flows around him in melody and mood

a smoky mournful sax

yeah that guy knows the meaning of these blues

the sax sounds like it drank whisky all its life

it paints a picture of emptiness

it tells a tale of the veil of tears

abandoned wrecks of dreams

crushed pulp of hope

when love goes bad and you cant get it good again

or the songs of the loveless

those who never loved or were loved

songs of white hot jealousy

songs of blackest scorn

songs of gentle regrets that have somewhat faded

songs of disappointed suitors empty handed in the rain

songs of maudlin reminiscences

songs of lonely old towns like this

who came to hear him sing……not that many

they listened n drank

it was a strange night

it was the usual thing

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