The Bluesman and the Lovebirds
The bluesman swayed and crooned a tune,
a tale of two lovers in a world of hate.
Two, too different lovers, where they just didn’t belong.
Like young lovebirds they flew as one,
flew as one right out of that place, looking to find a new, unknown fate.
And all the while they flew, with each flap of the wings
They whispered their sing-song sonnets, so only
the other could hear.
The bluesman sang on, of the man
and all his troubles. Of how the townsmen,
how all those jealous townsmen wanted to have that love,
Of how their jealousy led soon to hate
Of how they beat him
How they broke him
How they sliced up his face
They carved Chelsea’s permanent smile deep within his cheeks.
That night he ran, and like two lovebirds
He and she fled as one, leaving late that night
Before the rising sun
Their flight was long and hard
Slowly took its toll
As they grew in age
Their feathers turned back to hair
Their lovesongs faded voices oh so fair.
Till all but a whisper was heard
Then came a day when a bird didn’t wake
And like a pair of lovebirds would
Soon both lay beneath the earth
The bluesman stood up, his story all done
He put away his guitar, as the last lonely cloud
Made its way across the gray canvas of sky
The bluesman’s voice hung in the air and
Slowly he walked away from the gravestone
Of two lovers who died too young