The Freewheeling Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan

Mother Goose

Here is a real stinker of a song 
I was trying to create a new song and was reading a bunch of very old lyrics from my 20s that were laying around in a drawer.   Some of these manifestos of youth, though earnest and ambitious, have not aged well over the years  ....like that piece of moldy cheddar at the back of the fridge... Leftovers, no longer suitable for public consumption..though one did leap from its hiding place and forced(inspired) me to write a song about it before it sent me down the river never to be seen again.....

simple melody , pretty rough pounding on the electric and keys with a drum track from my phone
Homer Simpson helps to illustrate the food metaphor for this  somewhat out of tune tune 
best i can do with what I got


Leftover Song

This song it smells like moldy cheese                      
With words of youth gone stale and left behind      
A little blue, a little rancid                                              
From the back of the fridge to the bright lights        

Curdled by the curse of indecision                            
Now, I take a sip and promptly spit and spill            Over-seasoned with the sweat of self-reflection   
Makes it kind of  hard to swallow, I’m hungry still                          
Perhaps my best before date                                       
Has been exceeded                                                       
What once was firm has now gone soft and sour    
This tune unchosen                                                        
Slowly decomposing                               
Reanimated by a higher power                                   
Leftover song of mine                                                
Resurrected now for you                                                                      
This song it has the feel of the familiar
Simple shapes and sounds sung in the major G
I tried to lose it, give it the slip, in the parking lot of my mind
But it jumped in my car, took me hostage and assumed my identity

Tied me up, took me down to the river
And sent me on my way
On a boat that sailed in circles 
With a piano that could not play
It’s a coup d’ etat, a Mardis Gras
Said the one that got away
A monster of my own creation

These nouns and verbs gone wild
A verse unseeded
Left in the sun to slowly bloom and flower
Starved of attention
No comprehension
Of what was locked inside my Ivory Tower
Leftover song of mine
Busting loose to sing to you





Talkin' World War III Blues

Bob Dylan

Recent comments

L1J

Related tracks