Sunday Needs A Blues Band

Sunday needs a blues band in a bar by the ocean
a tortoise shell plectrum made of the setting sun
strumming the western guitar sky
plenty of drum circles t-shirt stands and folk music
a crowd that dances and passersby Sunday needs a blues band

The south wind's up and almost as warm as the tubes in old fender amps
or the beer or the way she turns when her heel gets stuck
where the pavement's cracked at the barroom door
doggs and fortune tellers her laughter past garbage cans and bullet holes
and blunderings and jive on the Boardwalk
spokes spinning herb Jah babies of purpose strong
turning back to see an arrest or a beer ad on a building wall
and all that bravado against diffidence to stand between what is me
and what I assume is you Sunday needs a blues band

I washed up on that shore in bamboo canoe a war canoe
a tattered sail a soggy hull I was jamming with the day moon
pitched by a last mad wave flung across the sand to the bike rack
and the bistro and you sitting there on the hood of your old model car
something about you reminds me of her or vice versa
either way there's too much going on here Sunday needs a blues band

She said she’d meet me at the water’s edge so why am I here with you
and you made outlandish by the large fuzzy dice twiddling in the windshield
I convince myself they turn in one direction when you turn in the other
see I need romance too or at least physics on my side
what do you need Sunday needs a blues band

I gather my provisions and belongings a moldy peach
my middle emotions an acoustic guitar
startle flirts with rebuff in your unwavering brown eyes
you hop a cloud of cigarette smoke and drift across the sandy parking lot

Sunday needs a blues band plenty toe rings buffalo wings
German girls vagabonds buzzing tattoo machines
a love child a wine cooler a Ghost Town G a tour group from Tokyo
a crowd that dances and passersby Sunday needs a blues band

Now there’s love and emotion a commotion a potion
by the ocean I’m sealed in lacquer and my greatest fear
that I might take out my pen knife and fashion your initials in the tabletop
or that C & D will eternally answer G

I veered off toward the water as the girl walked in the bistro
I heard the euphonic wind passing through an abandoned harmonica
poised on the window sill in the bar by the ocean
and I am trailed by bead salesmen and the blunt chord issuing Sunday needs a blues band

© 1997 Liberty Beach Music
From the album, “The War For Salt”

http://www.DavidHarris.com libertybeach@mail.com All songs written by David Harris. Copyright 2006 Liberty Beach Music, BMI. Used by permission.

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