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Little Sister Debbie and Brother Gene Burgundy Blues

A fly had gotten into the apartment one summer evening. It was larger than a housefly, but smaller than a horsefly. It decided to join me in the media room where I was sipping Burgundy and strummin' my guitar.

Apparently, the fly craved more altitude than the room allowed. It frenetically cruised around the room on a high and haphazzard course, rythmically bang-bang-banging itself against the ceiling.

I was curious as to why a fly would behave this way. And I was mildly annoyed. But rather than resort to terminal violence, hey, I wrote a song. Thus, I gave that fly more space in my long-term memory than I would typically allot to the average "Passing Stranger." (Of course, had a "Passing Stranger" wandered into my apartment and begun bang-bang-banging his or her head against my ceiling, I would have definitely commited that to memory! But then, I'm sure you'd agree, that sort of passerby wouldn't really classify as "average." Not here in Indiana.)

"Burgundy Blues" is a short love letter to my friends Brother Gene and Little Sister Debbie, written after having recently visited them out in Oregon. ("Love letter!?" you say. Well hey, they understand.)

The lyric may wallow in depression. But the tune is downright bouncy in places. The "Dada" chorus should be performed as Vaudeville Burlesque.

Read the lyrics below, check out the Lead Sheet for both words and music of this song, or listen to the homemade MP3 song demo recording.

(Note: The songwriter does not endorse the use of Burgundy wine, other alcoholic beverages, meditation on insects, or psychotropic drugs — other than those prescribed by a duly-licensed mental health professional, for the treatment of clinical depression. Bless your heart. Bless my heart too.) —BD

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Burgundy Blues
Words and Music by David R. Lister

There's a fly flittin' 'round my ceiling
Hittin' out a four-four time
And I'm sittin' here
Gettin' down on my Burgundy wine

When I went out to Oregon
I got high with my friends
But I'd been down so long, Lord
It nearly gave me the bends

Sittin' here drinkin', sinkin', thinkin'
I've got nothin' to lose
It's trite I'm sure
But still I've been put to the screws
I'm Road Song strong
And yet it seems
I've lost my travelin' shoes
Sittin' here singin'
These ol' gettin' down on Burgundy Blues

(Da da, dada...)

Oh, so very few have learned to love my life
And I've been self-destructive for too long a time
But now that all means nothin' much
I guess I'm finally losin' touch
While I'm sittin' here
Gettin' down on my Burgundy wine

(Da da, dada...)


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© 2001-2012 David R. Lister • All Rights Reserved.