for Adam Gussow
I learn to play harmonica,
To my wife's eternal dismay.
But play the harmonica I will,
Whatever she may say.
She hates the crying racket,
The piercing whiny whine.
But that's not how I hear it,
To me it sounds just fine.
She says she can't be near it,
Yells take it somewhere far.
Where nobody can hear it,
'Play it in your car'.
Me and my harmonica,
We're both made to roam.
The one place I can't play it,
Is when I'm in my home.
Me and my harmonica,
We both sing the blues.
Anything that you can have,
Is something you can lose.
I blow a tune in four-time,
Pressed up against my lips.
And when my tune is done,
Back in my pocket it slips.
I move on down the road,
A wanderer alone.
With nothing but a song to sing,
Far away from home.
Out and in, in and out,
My body and my breath.
Shapes a sound into a song,
From silence and from death.
Me and my harmonica,
Go out for a long walk.
Try the door on my return,
But she done changed the lock.
Me and my harmonica,
We both sing the blues.
With every tune I learn to play,
I also pay my dues.
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