Ballad of a Malade

She’s sitting in her home
on a sunday evenin
Sipping tea all alone
But the bugs were creeping…

The vinyls playing scratchy tunes,
and her heart was moaning..
The dim lights and the poetry,
is what keeps her goin

Mr. Thom Wolfe was her only man,
She read all night long
Howling from her window
Till the morning shut her down

Marie you’ve been through many things,
You’re all worn out and in,
But they still gather at your doorstep
To let your music in

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