His collar is raised, pocket is empty,
He's not young, and he's always drunk,
He's on edge of nervous breakdown, don't come to him
He goes away always alone.
[Chorus:]
But my friend
plays the blues better than anybody else.
He's the coolest man around
to play the blues.
He doesn't know the intellectual words,
He considers you to be the scum,
Even in the morgue, he will play the music,
He doesn't care about your delights.
[Chorus:]
Night is for a exhale, day is for inhale,
Who has not survived, that man died.
His doomed soul is flying
From the saxophone to the knife.
[Chorus:]
His collar is raised, pocket is empty,
He's not young, and he's always drunk,
His doomed soul is flying
From the saxophone to the knife.