Stormy Monday

Stormy Monday (On the death and funeral arrangements of B B King)

The eagle flew on Friday He’d been hovering so long — He glazed each note with honey, Made a meal of every song, Now he’s gone down to the water Where the bigger catfish swim: There’s Billie, Ray and Muddy Who have died to play with him.

He was raised up on plantation, Was a child of that ‘Dust Bowl’; He lived the life of Riley, He got music in his soul. Then he took that guitar singing: Man, they played with such appeal; With her strings and thrills a’sighing He christened her Lucille.

Yeah, the eagle flew on Friday And the world was full of woe, Though they’ll praise his bones on Sunday They just knew he had to go; But the storm is set for Monday, There’ll be dark clouds in the sky And Lucille won’t sing on Monday When the King goes passing by.

Yeah, the eagle flew on Friday — But there’s a storm that’s coming in — The Blues at three o’clock, they say, Is the way to honour him. There’ll be cries and blues on Monday In that wild and stormy sky When Lucille will have her last say
As the King goes passing by.

— © Frank Callery. Friday May 15th 2015.