A little boy stirs the grains of early evening
with his bicycle,
he passes by, a silent player on the stage of my street.
The newest member of the senior ballroom club
has new dancing shoes.
In stockinged feet, she tiptoes down her driveway
new shoes in hand.
And Wednesday, she is gone
but I have stayed on in her stead.
These kitchen window blues,
they've got to go, I've got them bad.
And Wednesday she is gone,
but I have stayed on in her stead
These kitchen blues,
they are the best blues you ever had.
And in my view, each mountain is a ghost
of the one in front of it,
bearing its scars and contemplating its siloutte.
The night sky is pale and wide
like a sudden breath.
And all the houses in their rows
light up like paper doll moons.
And Wednesday, she is gone
but I have stayed on in her stead.
These kitchen window blues,
they've got to go, I've got them bad.
And how was I to know,
that I would be just such the fool
to let a Wednesday gone
remind me of all the shoes,
the shoes I never could fill up
with anything,
the shoes I never could fill.
A little boy stirs the grains of early evening
with his bicycle