I was deeply saddened by passing of John Prine.
Prine was a beautiful, gentle man, whose modesty greatly belied his talent. Though he never sold the number of records his songs and albums deserved, he was revered by generations of songwriters, from Bob Dylan and Kris Kristofferson to Bruce Springsteen and Bon Iver.
Prine was both revered and beloved, because his songs were ingeniously drawn portraits of flawed, struggling people, but rendered with care, empathy, and above all, humour. He loved his battlers, his broken dreamers, his lost souls. His lyrics walked the unsung streets of love and loss.
One of his most devastatingly wonderful songs is Linda Goes to Mars, a seemingly absurdist piece of comedy that slowly reveals itself to be a portrait of a loved one cruelly taken by dementia.
But that's not the one I want to use as my song of the day. Below is are the lyrics of Prine's wonderful song, Souvenirs.
They are beautiful.
Souvenirs
All the snow has turned to water Christmas days have come and gone Broken toys and faded colors Are all that's left to linger on
I hate graveyards and old pawn shops For they always bring me tears I can't forgive the way they rob me Of my childhood souvenirs
Memories they can't be boughten They can't be won at carnivals for free Well it took me years To get those souvenirs
And I don't know how they slipped away from me
Broken hearts and dirty windows Make life difficult to see That's why last night and this mornin' Always look the same to me
I hate reading old love letters For they always bring me tears I can't forgive the way they rob me Of my sweetheart's souvenirs
Memories they can't be boughten They can't be won at carnivals for free Well it took me years To get those souvenirs
And I don't know how they slipped away from me.
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