Song for a Saturday: Tom Traubert’s Blues by Tom Waits

I haven’t listened to Small Change for a while (I suspect it’s Bergen’s fault that it’s come to mind). I suppose in my head it’s categorised as the time when Waits was still acting a role rather than speaking the truth. Not sure when or why that changed. Maybe he just found the wisdom in being a witness instead of playing a part. The words were always true. He just got out of their way. Maybe that’s how we find wisdom — if we do.

And it’s a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on
An old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen, flame keepers
And goodnight, Matilda, too.

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