Monday, January 26, 2009

Tom Traubert's Blues

This might be considered a lazy excuse for a blog, but it's a song which captures perfectly everything great about Tom Waits. It's his blend of storytelling, songwriting and world creation at its most potent. Sometimes I wish I inhabited the dystopian little hamlets of the darker recesses of Master Waits' mind. At least there, you'd know where you stand.

Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did
I got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank can I borrow
A couple of bucks from you?
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken
And my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

Now the dogs are barking
And the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me
You tore my shirt open
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmills I staggered
You buried the dagger
In your silhouette window light
To go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

Now I've lost my Saint Christopher
Now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinaman, and the cold blooded signs
And the girls down by the strip tease shows, go
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

No, I don't want your sympathy
The fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
Manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

And you can ask any sailor
And the keys from the jailor
And the old men in wheelchairs know
That Matilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
You'll go waltzing Matilda with me

And it's a battered old suitcase
To a hotel someplace
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained
With blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers
the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight, Matilda, too

No comments:

Post a Comment