[This version was so awful that I redid it the very next day.]
This version of this new song is the musical equivalent of dragging your sorry backside into work so impaired, so trashed, so worthless that you really should have stayed home.
It’s a mess… but it’s here, reporting for duty.
Chain of Mondays
a thousand mondays
that’s just 19 years
put your head down
put yourself in gear
before you know it
the day is done
fall asleep
and there’s another one
chain of mondays
wrapped round my life
chain of mondays
until the day I die
I’m good at what I do
but what I do is dumb
pushing things around
all day long
what’s it all for
don’t ask me
i’m just a well-worn gear
in the big machine
chain of mondays…
don’t take off my shackles
i don’t want to be free
cause theres nowhere to go
and no one to be
been at the grindstone
for so damn long
there’s nothing much left
except this song:
You’d think this song was about a betrayal of Biblical proportions, a temptress so demonic, yet so enticing as to destroy any fool with the temerity to cast a glance her way.
But as I pointed out when I posted a much different (and essentially somewhat silly) version back on December 4th, the young woman I had recently broken up with when I wrote this song was a sweet and level-headed mother of two young girls who simply wanted me to decide what I wanted. When I wouldn’t — or couldn’t — give her an answer, she moved on.
But I was a dumb ass kid, a few years younger than her, a crummy job but big dreams of adventure. The last thing on earth I thought I wanted was responsibility.
Burning and bitter
are my thoughts tonight
I can taste the poison
of the lies I heard tonight
I have seen my soul
like the falcon
you gunned down in flight
You’re a sorceress
you’re a temptress
but you’re oh
so sweet in the night
Sometimes a suddenly evident truth just reaches out, knocks you over the head and drags you to its cave.
You know, something you’ve really always known.
It was an August night in 1990 and my next door neighbor and I were sitting in her kitchen, which opened on my backyard, talking, as we often did, since we’d known each other for years, about our friends and about life in general.
Most of our mutual friends were then in their 20s or 30s, many of them musicians or other artists, and there was plenty of turmoil, of all varieties, not the least of it romantic and/or sexual.
I’ve forgotten what exactly, what scandal, what dilemna, what intricate arrangement, we were talking about, but I remember a few moments of silence, standing up, and saying, “Well… men are stupid. Women are crazy. It’s a system. It’s the way it’s always been… ”
[reprinted from the posting of an earlier version of this song, which was such a rotten version it shall not be mentioned again]
MEN ARE STILL STUPID
When I was just a little bitty boy
sitting on my pappy’s knee
he said hey TK listen to my story
take the word from me
dont let a girl get you in trouble
spend all your money make you see double
take this tip from your dad
don’t fooled and dont get had
I said hey dad huh dont worry so bad
times have changed and that stuff’s in the past
and then he rolled his eyes and he slapped his thigh
and he fell over laughing as he grabbed his sides
times ain’t changed since the early days
men are still stupid and women are still crazy
When I was older growing up
not quite a man but not still a pup
I asked my mama for some love advice
and she put down her slide rule and she picked up some dice
she rolled a seven then he rolled 2 ones
she said snakeyes sonny youre just like everyone (because)
times aint changed since the early days
men are still stupid and women are still crazy
Now Caesar he told Cleopatra
I know baby just what youre after
you think your loves gonna wear me down
she said julie baby ya got it turned around
You think my loves some palace plot
but I dont even know what I want
cause times aint change since the very first day
men are still stupid anw women are crazy
The version of Emily below borders on punk folk, at least in relation to how I normally play the song. This version is faster, edgier, looser… but it’s still fingerpicked, midtempo. The neofauvist angle is more in the abandon of the vocals (translation: once again I throw aside my first GF’s admonition that Effort is a sign of incomplete mastery.)
EMILY
On a lake
the faded yellow row boat
drifts in lazy circles
while I fall in love with you
Emily Emily watch the sky go around Emily Emily watch the sky
Willows weep
tears melt in cool water
your white cotton dress
you warm brown legs
your deep green eyes
Emily
Emily Emily watch the sky go around Emily Emily watch the sky
(C)1982, TK Major
[This version was so awful that I redid it the very next day.]
![Emily [alternate version]](https://ayearofsongs.org/ayearofsongs/images/blogimages/Emily2.jpg)