WHISKEY CURE
The mockingbird is singing in my brain,
That crazy bird is singing in my brain,
His lonely tune just like the midnight train.
My baby left me right past supper time,
She up and left me right past supper time,
She said she’s gone to lead a life of crime.
She’s tired of the way I earn my dough,
So tired of the way I burn my dough,
No money left to pay the debts I owe.
I know she’s riding down that midnight rail,
I can feel her riding by on that long rail,
She’s never coming back to tell the tale.
My baby took her love this time for sure,
And left me nothing but this whiskey cure.
D. Edgar Lamp
www.TheDailyPoem.org
Blues Sonnet
Sunday, November 28, 2010
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