Karl (louderback) wrote,

monstrous cold

Today's Lyric:
As I walked down that old dark town
In the town where I was born,
I heard the saddest lonesome moan
I ever heard before.

My hair it trembled at the roots
Cold chills run down my spine,
As I drew near that jail house
I heard this deathly cry:

O, don't kill my baby and my son,
O , don't kill my baby and my son.
You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,
But don't kill my baby and my son.

Now, I've heard the cries of a panther,
Now, I've heard the coyotes yell,
But that long, lonesome cry shook the whole wide world
And it come from the cell of the jail.

Yes, I’ve heard the screech owls screeching,
And the hoot owls that hoot in the night,
But the graveyard itself is happy compared
To the voice in that jailhouse that night.

Then I saw a picture on a postcard
It showed the Canadian River Bridge,
Three bodies hanging to swing in the wind,
A mother and two sons they'd lynched.

There's a wild wind blows down the river,
There's a wild wind blows through the trees,
There's a wild wind that blows 'round this wide wide world,
And here's what the wild winds say:

O, don't kill my baby and my son,
O, don't kill my baby and my son.
You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,
But don't kill my baby and my son.
Don't Kill My Baby and My Son
Woodie Guthrie

Recently Played Songs:
         I feel monstrous. I have for a couple of days now. I want to stand on a high crag and fling lightning bolts at a sea full of ships below me. I want to be one thousand feet tall and crush the milling mob with every step while I hurl boulders the size of buildings at them. I want to slither smooth as an otter through a great throng with a stilletto in hand slitting wrists, surgically puncturing femoral arteries, poking people in the jugular before I slide away.

         I've been listening to Terry Pratchett's books of late, "The Colour of Magic", "The Truth", and "Going Postal". I have found a number of the Discworld novels in mp3 format, but have not yet listened to any of them. Often such things are of very poor quality. I wish I could get more enjoyment from listening to books. Often I have to quit after only a few minutes out of sheer irritation at the slowness or sheer ineptitude of the reader.

         I have just awakened from a Tragic Mistake, that being today's word for a Lengthy Nap. I slept noon to four and now feel completely miserable. Every cold symptom I was holding at bay ganged up on me during the nap and is now manifesting itself. My ears feel like they are full of cotton, my sinuses feel filled with cheez-whiz, my head is doing the woozy dance, my tongue seems to be made of leather, and we won't even talk about my eyes.

         Enough for today.


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