They played tricks on him every other day,
they found fault with everything he tried to work out.
Little boy left home, headed for another place,
Little boy left home, with a suitcase and his guitar.
He tried to be everyone´s good fellow
but they said: "You´re a fool, you´re not good for nothing!"
O Lord, I tell you, he sure got the blues,
on his lonesome road, sunrise over the hills.
Now he´s grown up, life is not so bad,
he hardly thinks about those leaving days yet
But sometimes, when sun comes over the hills,
there´s the voice, nobody else can hear:
Boy, you have to leave this home, heading for another place,
boy, you have to leave this home, with a suitcase and your guitar!
Die Kindheit ist wahrscheinlich der Blues an sich, nur wissen wir es da
noch nicht. Und selbst wenn, kann mensch dieses Leiden genießen?