Those Sunday Mornin' Blues
Klokken er whenever søndag morgen. Horsens Bluesfestival 2007 er overstået. Fruen og jeg var med hele vejen. Vi gik glip af enkelte arrangementer, da det ganske enkelt ikke var fysisk muligt at deltage i det hele. En fyldestgørende rapport vil følge.
Oplevelsen har naturligvis været inspirerende nok til, at jeg absolut måtte skrive en blues, da jeg kom hjem. Det skal, for en god ordens skyld, tilføjes, at teksten ikke beskriver min nuværende situation. Tværtimod.
Den kan synges på en hvilkensomhelst blues-standard, bare der er tolv takter.
Why I'm Singing The Blues
or Happy Man's Weekly Blues
You ask me, baby, why I'm singing the blues
You ask me, baby, why I'm singing the blues
Well, I'll tell you my story,
And I believe you will be singing it too.
I've got a mindsplittin' headache and ten tons of sand in my boots,
I've got a son of a gun migraine and ten tons of sand in my boots
I can't move an inch,
Feels like I've grown a square-mile of roots.
There's a fog before my eyes and cigarette-butts in my ears,
There's a fog before my eyes and a big-ass pool of cotton in my ears,
And I know whereever I'm goin',
I'll have to cross an ocean of tears.
But, you see, I need you, baby, like I need a hole in my head,
Yes, I need you, baby, like I need a fuckin' hole in my head.
You better let me go now, honey,
Or one of these mornin's you and me will wake up dead.
'Course you bitch and complain, about me not doin' my best,
You bitch and complain, about me not doin' my best,
Well, if you can do it any better, girl,
Be my motherfucking guest.
So I'm packin' up my suitcase, and leaving you on your own,
I'm packin' up my suitcase and leaving you all alone.
Then you can spend the rest of your unatural life
Whith your Gucci-watch and your rhine-stone-telephone.
Subscribe to Happy Man's Weekly and get your first issue for free.
Yes, subscribe to Happy Man's Weekly and get your first issue for free.
There will be a picture on the frontpage
And that's the last, you'll ever see of me.
You ask me, baby, why I'm holdin' this suitcase in my hand.
You ask me, baby, why I'm holdin' this suitcase in my hand.
Well, take a look at my feet as they walk out that door,
And I am sure, you will understand.
You ask me, baby, why I'm singing the blues.
You ask me, baby, why I'm singing the blues,
I will leave your here with my heart, now baby,
Which means, I've got nothing left to loose.
God søndag, Danmark... Whereever your are...