Bagman sings the blues
In a slightly muffled way
The bag over his head
Half-mutes the things he has to say.
He sings of the ideas he’s heard
The places that he’s been
He sings of something beautiful
And something quite obscene.
Bagman sings the blues
In his zero-star motel
His hut out in the jungle
And his filthy prison cell
He sings a song of peace on Earth
He sings a song of hate
He sings of things spiritual
And matters of the plate.
Bagman sings the blues
Every night and every day
The precious few who hear him
Mostly smile and walk away.
He sings a song of love
He sings a song of lust
He sings a song of what we choose
He sings of what we must.
He sings a song of hope reborn
He sings of suicide
He sings of ardent promises
And all those who have lied.
He sings a song of victimhood
A song of dealing pain
He sings a song of marble floors
And waiting for the rain.
He sings a song of one old man
With a bag tied over his head
Who’ll keep on singing till he’s heard
Or the day he drops down dead.
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