There's music all around us, but some music seems to resonate within us. I like to listen to classical, rock, and some jazz, I'll even listen to a few country songs, although I generally try to avoid it if I can. But they don't hold a candle to what the Blues do to me.
The Blues are about the rythms in my life, the ebb and flow of the to and fro I go and go. The cycles and seasons that sweep us along and the highs and lows are lined up in rows. The rhythm slides by and around and through and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about the harmonica I bought for the "Musically Hopeless," the best kind for I. A simple C harp can sob and moan and shout and sigh and my skill is so small but I try and I try, and in trying I'm tried. I'm as guilty as sin, but I never give in. The wail from my harp is the best I can do, and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are like water welling from an acoustic guitar. Liquid notes that spill through my ears and soften my fears, and the tears that I drip are like rain, and the pain is washed out, and heart is wrung out. I'm watered and washed and truly I'm blessed because these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about the sliver tongued trumpet, the sly'ed trombone. The notes that burst like lights in the night and notes that fall down like falcoln in flight. Precision and power that pierce my spirit and carry it off, and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about a saxophone, sobbing into the dark. They grow like tendrils, weaving about me, and holding me still. They grow and they twain, and I feel the wood grain as they bind me and blind me, and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about an electric guitar. It howls and yowls and sweeps up and down and it cries for release from the tale it must tell. It rings and it sings and I listen and glisten, for its story is mine, and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about a piano, the keys and the chords that knead me like kittens. The notes and the tones that nibble my ears settle down on my soul for a dreamful sleep. They nudge me and claim me and I am their own, and these are the Blues, the Blues...
The Blues are about me, the sorrows and smiles that spread through my life. The Blues are about my brother who died, a suicide, the grief and the loss that grip me sometimes. The Blues are about a lady I doted, devoted, who knew no such emotion for me. The Blues are about forging your soul in the fire and the fiercer you burn, the stronger you show. The Blues are about pleasure and pain and immutable time that wraps you and rapts you and is bound to your life. The Blues are about knowing and showing you know how the ugly goes good and the bad can find beauty and sorrow knows joy and dark becomes light and It's alright, It's alright...
And these are the Blues...
-- Belt