The vast majority of songs I wrote in ’08 & ’09 were derived from the blues, but then this blog came along as if to say to me “The blues is dead, get over it!” Well, if the blues is indeed dead, call me a necrophiliac.
While this week’s song is in an American style, the first line “My forced words are all I’ve got in this fucking city” established the setting as Vilnius, Lithuania, where I spent three weeks studying creative writing in July/August.
Barking Up the Wrong Blond Tree
My forced words are all I’ve got in this fucking city
My forced words are all I’ve got in this fucking city
Balancing the window open, will the sun never set?
Moths have filled my ears and a knocking on the door’s in my head
Barking up the wrong blond tree
She took off her shoes and asked of my to play for her
She took off her shoes and asked of me to play for her
It’s flat she said I dropped it and we climbed into my bed
She left as the sun rose and I slept in all of my clothes
Barking up the wrong blond tree
My forced words, I know, will be the death of me
My forced words, I know, will be the death of me
Down the street I need a drink, a swim in the Three Nines
When I wake tomorrow I’ll get right back to wasting my time
Barking up the wrong blond tree
I had a jam this week with an unapologetic blues enthusiast, I’m sure that had something to do with this tune, as did Fenn, a fellow SLS-Vilnius-alumnus and the source of the phrase “Barking up the wrong blond tree.” We can both be seen in the following film by Ken Calhoun, at about 3:50.
-dgh
