The Splendour of the True

this got written on the same day as Catnip on my Shoe. I had the date written down somewhere and I imagine if I tear my room apart I could find it but it doesn’t seem that important candidly. I was making fun of Bob Dylan’s writing style all the way through this. That no good lousy son of a seacook Dave Dowker (/s) said BUT ALLEGRA YOUR SONGS NEVER HAVE BRIDGES and I thought I’ll fix you, you fucker, (Dave, man, you *know* I love ya past the edge of time and words) so note the bridge. IT’S A LITTLE ON THE NOSE but that my dears is a feature of the true Allegra style.

Please also note that the line about ‘gave me all her money’ IS TRUE. A friend was experiencing mental health problems and she gave every dime she had on her to a street musician. She had no way to know that he was about to be evicted; she prevented him, his then girlfriend and infant child from being thrown into the street. YEARS LATER all three of us met in the friend’s apartment – he was now an IT wrangler in Vancouver – and I GOT TO PLAY THIS SONG FOR HIM. That is one of the many extremely spooky song magic things that’s happened to me over the course of my life (you would NOT BELIEVE some of the strangest of it, but this example is nice and family friendly) but it’s amped up since I moved to MST country. My song magic is powerful enough to reach into the future and be there waiting for unforeseeable events.

He left me in a dimestore
with a book and half a shoe
I said I can’t believe this
it’s so very good of you
and we’ll have some words before we’re through
Oh I bless the man who wastes no time debating
the splendour of the true

The truth is broken furniture
you can leave it in the street
right next to the newspapers
the hoboes need the heat
I’ll lay my empty pack at your feet
Oh I bless the woman who gave me all her money
and made my set complete

I’ll be to hell and gone before I find another friend so good
she went to the dictionary and tore out the word should
Half a paycheque gone, just to be misunderstood
Oh I bless the woman who listened to me
Just because she could

A bridge, a bridge is what I see
no more analysis, one more river to cross
A bridge, a bridge is what I see
no more analysis, one last river to cross

Sometimes I’d rather sit in darkness
than see a single light
and see so much that needs healing
and being put to rights
better to be broken than never to have tried
and now the dawn has come
and the dark gets swept aside

Published by

Allegra

Born 1958. I write, I sing, I watch TV, I try to fulfill my responsibilities.

Leave a Reply