Paris Blues Singer

PARIS BLUES SINGER Her voice is dreams, out through the fog and mist, behind a concertina's mournful sound, through halos made of light streetlamps have kissed as Paris goes to sleep with dreams it's found. She sounds as if her song will make her die, there in the cabaret before she's done, while patrons stare at her, and have to cry, forgetting this, their night for having fun. A man, in a pissoirre, out on the street, has heard the song so many times before, but still she makes him moan, and wet his feet, that's why he must return, to hear some more. There's lovers near the Seine, who've lived the songs, and cannot ever shake them from their minds; they keep each word of them where it belongs hid deeply in a heart nobody finds. A taxi driver, waiting for a fare, finds little hope, but listens to each word, he knows his life's not going anywhere, just like the saddest song we've ever heard. © Ron Arbuthnot