Quietly I whisper what I should have said.
Am I talking to the dead?
Sideways I stumble to go ahead,
Heavy words weigh down my head.
They are) when will I return?
When will I have learnt?
I think it’s a tram, don’t know where I am?
I Cannot make out the number.
Still I stumble aboard to rowdy applause,
I salute them all with my Vodka.
Now I’m sharing stories with the young & old,
This is the one, I should have told.
Don’t count them chickens,
before the eggs have hatched,
Or the key will never turn over the latch.
It’s best to return,
To repair the bridges burnt.
So I take my advice & don’t look twice,
I already know the number.
Then I stagger in on my drunken legs,
Vibrations waking up the dead.
You know I have returned,
To repair the bridges burnt.
The posthumous record by the legendary Tony Joe White is full of rugged, smoky blues & Americana, culled from a trove of demos. Bandcamp New & Notable May 10, 2021