A blues song.

In that ugly summer,
When old yellow boils the rain,
I sing a tale to the birds,
About my favourite pain.
I say about the time,
When you went away,
And old misery came,
Said he'd be here to stay.
And we two hobos,
We sat in that empty room,
And with our cigarette smoke,
We decorated the gloom.
So I say to those birds,
Never mind the rain,
Take a walk in my shoes,
And feel of my favourite pain.