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Aches and complaints,
you name ’em, I’ve gotten ’em,
Presently even singing
sharpens my pain.
Wish I could sink,
like a sub, to the bottom,
And send out signals
never again.
My friend poured me drinks,
though I kept refusing;
He kept repeating,
“This once shall pass.”
He hooked me up
with one of his floozies —
“She’ll help thee, just like
the booze in thy glass.”
But neither helped me
feel any less rotten,
It made my head hurt,
she made but scenes.
Wish I could sink,
like a sub, to the bottom,
And disappear
from all radar screens...
1965.
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