Lord, I sure got the blues this morning. Woke up with nothing beside me, but a pillow and a stain. The gray clouds crowded around me, And that drizzle became a pouring rain.
I feel so melancholy - when I hear your name. The sibilance of those syllables, Triggers a recall, Pavlovian pain.
Music's like a wicked woman! Fickle and sour as a pickle she can be. Before you go dancing with that damsel, You better check out the scars on me.
There's a reason or three, they call me, call me, call me.... Mr. Meloncholy.