Bayou Blue

Humidity’s risin’, the air’s scrutinizin’
my waitin’ for her to come home.
There’s bothers a loomin’, the bayou’s consumin’
suspicions, that she ain’t alone.
Bullfrogs are croakin’ on the mists they are smokin’:
knowin’ that somethin’ ain’t right.
When she left this mornin’, the nets, they were haulin’
an’ now they are draped for the night.

The moon’s in her hidin’ for fear of confidin’
with that which is chokin’ the air.
A cruel kind of silence, unseen in its violence:
ain’t nothin’ but evil out there.
The rooster to preenin’ the night in its leavin’:
I’m dreadin’ the comin’ of day.
When scandals come trawlin’ an’ rumours a callin’:
an awakenin’ into the fray.

I’ve heard all the stories, ’bout her an’ her forays:
some stranger was burnin’ her flame.
I left that to slumber, some ill-mouthed monger:
gossipers defilin’ her name.
The truth of the matter the mornin’ will scatter
the day into light’s disarray.
I should have known better but who knows the weather,
like waitin’ yer worries away.

Make way to the jetty, my boat\'s at the ready,
I’ll put out to sea on a whim.
I’ll pack me a compass an’ belly the canvas
on a hope and a gallon of gin.
What use irritatin’ the tempers of waitin’:
the waitin’ for what, but her lies.
A fair wind’s a greetin’ the sails when a meetin’
an’ the tide is calm on the rise.

No more I’m returnin’, my bridges I’m burnin’:
the sins of her makin’s ain’t mine.
The ebbin’ of evenin’ will dim a man’s leavin’:
I’ll see out my troubles with time.
To yon, the horizon, no use criticisin’:
I’ll leave what is left of my heart.
To the bayou, her skeeters, croakers an’ cheaters;
whose gators would rip ya apart.