Blues in the Night
‘Specially the lost souls seekin’ our music as a cure fur somethin’
they don’t know sickens them
weave our magic, notes a tapestry of pain and triumph
each song a story told
In this dim-lit haven where the pain belongs
guitar strings weep, and the piano keys moan
Their troubles forgotten in the whiskey's sweet sin
the moon hangs low, casting shadows on the walls
and I blow my harp, conjuring tales of love and falls
I've seen heartache and joy, etched in every face
from the broken-hearted lover to the lost in grace
Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2025
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