Blue Wing

He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder,

It may have been a Blue bird I don’t know.

He’d get stoned drunk and talk about Alaska,

The salmon boats and 45 below.

He said I got that blue wing up in Walla Walla,

And his cell mate there was little Willie John.

And Willy he was once a great Blues singer,

And winging Willy wrote him up a song. He said:

Chorus:

It’s dark in here, can’t see the sky,

But I look at this blue wing and I close my eyes,

And fly away, beyond these walls, up above the

Clouds where there ain’t no fault on a poor mans dreams.

They paroled blue wing in August of 1963,

And he moved north pickin apples in the town of Wanatchee.

Then winter finally caught him in a rundown trailer park on the

South side of Seattle where the days grow gray and dark.

And he drank and dreamt of visions when the salmon still ran free,

And his father’s father crossed that wild old Berring sea.

The land belonged to everyone and there where old songs yet to sing

Now it’s narrowed down to a cheap hotel and a tattooed prison wing.

Repeat Chorus

Knew his Christian name and there was no one there to cry.

But I dreamt there was a funeral, a preacher and a cheap pine box,

And half way thru the service, Blue Wing began to talk. He said:

Repeat Chorus