C
He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder,
G
It may have been a Blue bird I don’t know.
He’d get stoned drunk and talk about Alaska,
C
The salmon boats and 45 below.
C
He said I got that blue wing up in Walla Walla,
G
And his cell mate there was little Willie John.
And Willy he was once a great Blues singer,
C
And winging Willy wrote him up a song. He said:
Chorus:
C F
It’s dark in here, can’t see the sky,
C G
But I look at this blue wing and I close my eyes,
C F
And fly away, beyond these walls, up above the
C G C
Clouds where there ain’t no fault on a poor mans dreams.
C
They paroled blue wing in August of 1963,
G
And he moved north pickin apples in the town of Wanatchee.
Then winter finally caught him in a rundown trailer park on the
C
South side of Seattle where the days grow gray and dark.
C
And he drank and dreamt of visions when the salmon still ran free,
G
And his father’s father crossed that wild old Berring sea.
The land belonged to everyone and there where old songs yet to sing
C
Now it’s narrowed down to a cheap hotel and a tattooed prison wing.
Repeat Chorus
C
Well he drank his way to L.A. and that’s where he died and no
G
Knew his Christian name and there was no one there to cry.
But I dreamt there was a funeral, a preacher and a cheap pine box,
C
And half way thru the service, Blue Wing began to talk. He said:
Repeat Chorus
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