In Which I Miss Being Able To Stay Up All Night.

ain't no comfort here, oh no.

ain't no good-time-girls tonight,
no whiskey shots and no
fireplace stoked, 'cuz
ain't no warmth inside
this shanty town this time

ain't no comfort here, not here
where that breeze blows hot and
the Big Man's the only one who'll
give you a ride

well, ain't no music here this time,
boy, ain't no
jazz, no swing,
ain't even no blues hangin' 'round
these crossroads tonight

ain't no comfort here tonight.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Johnson_%28musician%29#Devil_legend

In Which Music Is Influencing Me, Again.

pounding, that beat
slams,
that song hits with
every dark or dusky word,
with every
lung-wrenching riff,
each cymbal crashing like
eyes clenching closed
or wounds sewed shut,
the very sound is body is
arms-legs-neck-shoulders
thrown hard against
walls of air or
your own life,
brain against skull --
the only struggle you have
left within you,
inescapable and
pounding.

In Which "Bad Moon Rising" is Stuck In My Head.

i see a
not-so-great sun
rising
but i gotta meet it, baby,
yeah
gotta meet it despite
or maybe that was
in spite
and I can't tell you,
sweetie,
if trouble's on the way
but monsoon season's
certainly
around the next corner
or the one
after that,
soon enough to merit caution
or at least
a glance ahead,
and, honey,
you might be prepared
but more likely
you'll just be in time
for those clouds to burst or
break.