Last night at Red's
My friend asked me
Who I thought
In this town
Really had the blues
Was a real bluesman
And I had to think
For a while
Yes it's part show,
Part show.
But fake?
The blues is a feeling, right—
We all know that
But what feeling
To open your eyes again
To get out of bed
To stay alive
So I've considered
It's all real,
We're as real as it gets
Or we wouldn't be here.
It's hard for all of us
To get out of bed
Stay alive
Slap on a smile and a coat
Show up.

But we do.
Every fucking day.
We show up for each other
And let the sound
Wash over us, through us
Along with smoke and alcohol
And bullshit
Gossip and chitchat
But somehow it works.
We chain despair
Into a few chords
And beat the fuck out of it.
And maybe
Not one of us
Picks cotton by hand
Anymore
Although the man still
Tries to enslave us.
We shall be free.
Broke but unbroken.