The River Blues

The river blues

When I went down by the river
The old man waved me with a smile
It’s a good day he then told me
Wished me good luck on the path I’m in

I was walking toward the sun
Starting to fire the grass field length 
Along the cows I was walking
They looked at me with great disregard 

I was writing into my mind
The best way to keep on the day
Would it possible to write
Without addressing anyone

Scrutiny to my vanity
No more seeing me through her eyes
The old man wished me one last time
I will soon be fed up with beauty

Come on
Come on now
Oh you little brother take my hand and we’ll walk the line
Come on
Come on now
Oh you little sister take my hand for the sun to shine

I was passing some old village
Uninhabited it seems at sight 
No one looked at me through the curtains
And the facades kept all blind

I met a duck its family
They were going the other way
We just nodded to each other
Greeting the best for what is left

And then I felt upon this fellow
Was my best friend in early days
He was sitting at the crossroads 
Told me that death was what he’d thought

The lonely snake gave me passage
Shown me the way to reach the dusk
He whistled pleasantly at my side
Gave me the best of all my rhymes 

Oh come on
Come on now
Oh you sweet grandma press my shoulder I really need your dappled hands
Come on
Come on now
Oh sweet grandma give me shelter my shoes are bleeding on the land

Finally at the end of day
I could not feel the night had come
Was uncertain of what to do
Whether I sleep or play the blues

I put a fire for my knees
Started to play with stick and knife
Could see my life in the flames dancing
Had now escaped out of humankind

The old man came and sat beside 
A band of squirrels at his feet
Don’t blame people for what you are
It’s not ourselves in the river back

Give me a rhyme little sister
Give me a grave to mourn the past we haven’t had
We don’t belong to each other
There is no debt of any kind

We’re not ourselves in the river back
We’re not ourselves in the river back…

Come on
Oh come on now
Come on little brother
You know there’re plenty other roads
Come on
Oh yeah come on now
Come on little sister
You’re always right to make your call

It’s not yourself in the river back
Not yourself in the river back…

© Sébastien Pellé 2021
illustration : Indian Summer in the White Mountains, Sanford Robinson Gifford1862 – 1919