I love this poem so much I do not want my girlfriend to ever find out. Yesterday I was in the lab and it just kept playing in my head. I could picture a performance and little by little I got lost in that weary blues world in my head. I was there, the stage was there, the ambience was perfect and black and white Black men with saxophones were… then someone interrupted. Turns out I was actually dosing. Yeah, circuits are not always fun too.
 
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
O Blues!

In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan–

“Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
And put ma troubles on the shelf.”
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more–

“I got the Weary Blues
And I can’t be satisfied.

Got the Weary Blues

And can’t be satisfied–

I ain’t happy no mo’
And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.

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