Random Radio 250521 (464)
Freeform music, Wednesday night from 8-10 MDT on Gila/Mimbres Community Radio, KURU 89.1 FM in Silver City, NM and online at GMCR.org.
Well now lemme tell ya, child, I been ridin’ that whisky train too long, and the tracks don’t hum the way they used to. Woke up this mornin’ with the good morning blues sittin’ on my chest like a mule in Sunday shoes. I looked out at that slow city fog, and it whispered to me: you got to help me some, 'cause I can’t carry all this groanin’ the blues alone.
I remember back when I played guitar swing behind Johnny's dream, down off Manhattan Bleekman Place, where the lights was low and the chances lower. Every chance I get, I want you in the flesh, I told her. But baby it's too much now, 'cause she done packed up, said come see me, my love has gone and left behind nothin' but the scent of sorrow and a lipstick note readin’ satisfy your queen or don’t come knockin’.
Now I ain’t no preacher, but I been shoutin’ praise God I'm satisfied even when trouble come ridin’ through like the Southwest Chief, all steam and steel and no mercy for the fool tryin’ to stand his ground. I been stuck in that old Statesboro blues so long, I don’t even know what key I’m cryin’ in no more.
Put my soul in a bottle, call it blues in a bottle, cork it tight and throw it to the river. Someday baby blues gonna find a shoreline where something's better than nothing and the wind don’t blow sideways. Till then, I keep my six-string company and my whisky close. Maybe tonight I’ll stumble into the kitchen and find her ghost hummin’ come on in my kitchen, the kind of ghost that don’t cook but leaves your heart half raw.
And if that day ever come, when I feel a piece of me come back together, I still won’t forget what that old C C Rider told me, back when the fire was young: you're gonna need somebody on your bond, ‘cause this world don’t trade in kindness. No bonus pay for the broken-hearted. Just dust, and memories, and maybe, if you're lucky, a porch light waitin' for your shadow.
But me? I shall not be moved. Not for love, not for lies, not even for that sweet six-string hum that once danced through her hair.
Now go on, sit with me a spell. Blues don't hurt so much when they're shared.
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