The Blues

Sometimes I grow weary playing this song
The monotonous croon of the man ever wrong
I strum the beat
I pat my feet
But somehow the rhythm is amiss all along

At first I thought this just a bar of my tune
Instead this monotonous  loop is my croon
Performing weary
A Melody dreary
Ever onstage as love's jester and buffoon.

My throat rendered raw as I howl my blues 
Wearing thin the soles of  these shoes 
The lyrics remain
Amiss as I  strain
As everything bleaks  whence cast in these hues

Yet a placid smile stays amidst the malaise
Stridently performing the changing of days
 As I patter through 
A minstrel of blue
I squint in effort to pear through this haze

For as always the show must go on
So though weary I remain with this song
A rhythmic appeal
In vain hope I deal
What renders me weak, somehow makes us strong