I was listening to NPR today, and there was a program of some song writer who was wining an award. He sang a few of his songs and they were terrible. I decided that even I could do better than that.
So I went home and wrote and recorded a song:
Not being a song writer, I wrote the song about not being able to write.
Apologies to: Tom Waits (Take it with me when I’m gone), Joanna Newsom (Emily), and Traditional (Deep River). I don’t think there is an original note in the whole song.
I find myself weeping in my little room,
The turn-table’s turning its playing a tune
The song tells of roses and thorns on the vine
A beautiful story of a man’s wasted life.
The man is a martyr, he suffered for love
He’ll find his redemption when they meet up above.
But why am I crying, this isn’t my fate,
I’m crying for something I cannot relate.
If your drunk, or heartbroken, you can easily find
someone who’s been there to help ease your mind
But I cannot put my own thoughts in a row.
Or put them together for others to know
And that’s why I crying, alone in my room,
I can’t seem to figure the words or the tune,
To make you see that I cannot get out
any of thoughts I am thinking about.