As Lucerne/The Low

There is no blues that can sound quite as heartfelt as mine Lamented at the gorge of the river, I watched it weep its banks dry I hum the sorriest tune on the bar at these dives Send all the patrons running home to make up with their first wives My prose is purple but not as pretty as Lucerne For sweet nothings from the lips of a gargoyle, nobody ever yearned Perpetually a philistine, but darling I am longing to learn Been looked at like the rotten grape on the vine, while you and yours are drinking Sauternes (But the low) is, what I came for (And to bask) in a darkness I do adore I am the magpie's solo, the sorrow that makes you salute Pounding the earth for the early worm, I'm a glutton but it's good for my glutes I was solace to the sirens, the bait on the fisherman's rod The hook took me far from my family, but closer to God