Lydia.....

... I switched out the CD that had been snuggled in Vivienne's CD player for the past few months and threw in some Prine....one of his Live albums, actually, and a true gem...... I'll give Tom Waits a rest for a few weeks at least before I sling him back towards cute Vivienne..... anyway, it occurred to me today that many people probably haven't heard one of the great poetic masterpieces by Mr. Prine....... so, I feel that I should share a few of his words...... and thus, we will all become just a wee bit more educated....... behold....

Donald and Lydia by John Prine

Small town, bright lights, Saturday night,
Pinballs and pool halls flashing their lights.
Making change behind the counter in a penny arcade
Sat the fat girl daughter of Virginia and Ray

Lydia
Lydia hid her thoughts like a cat
Behind her small eyes sunk deep in her fat.
She read romance magazines up in her room
And felt just like Sunday on Saturday afternoon.

But dreaming just comes natural
Like the first breath from a baby,
Like sunshine feeding daisies,
Like the love hidden deep in your heart.

Bunk beds, shaved heads, Saturday night,
A warehouse of strangers with sixty watt lights.
Staring through the ceiling, just wanting to be
Lay one of too many, a young PFC:

Donald
There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said.
Strangers had forced him to live in his head.
He envisioned the details of romantic scenes
After midnight in the stillness of the barracks latrine.

But dreaming just comes natural
Like the first breath from a baby,
Like sunshine feeding daisies,
Like the love hidden deep in your heart.

Hot love, cold love, no love at all.
A portrait of guilt is hung on the wall.
Nothing is wrong, nothing is right.
Donald and Lydia made love that night.

Love
They made love in the mountains, they made love in the streams,
They made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams.
But when they were finished there was nothing to say,
'Cause mostly they made love from ten miles away.

But dreaming just comes natural
Like the first breath from a baby,
Like sunshine feeding daisies,
Like the love hidden deep in your heart.

.... like Waits, you may not like his voice....... but also like Waits, if you don't like Prine's words, then you have no soul........ music isn't always about the soothing voices and melodic musicianship...... music is simply a different form of poetry..... a poetry that Waits and Prine are Masters at creating......

by Eric on August 24, 2012 | Bullshit (1) | TrackBack (0) | Music
Bullshit So Far

John Prine's voice and, believe it or not, his homely mug, are huuuuge factors for why I like him so. He's just a cool, ugly, witty, awesome song-writing brother.

Bullshitted by Erica on August 25, 2012 09:48 AM