Billie Holiday

My husband’s playing the piano. He’s been doing that a lot lately. I’m sitting and listening. He stops and says—

“Are there songs that are too devastating to include among your Songs of Devastation? You know, dangerously devastating? ”

“Maybe. What are you thinking of?”

“A Billie Holiday song,” he says.

“’Gloomy Sunday’?”


“I think it is all right to include it. But I feel it should be said that even though there are times when things seem so dark and hopeless and that there is no way out—there always is—even if it is just small baby steps toward an improvement in one’s predicament.”

“Exactly,” says my husband.

“Shall we put Gloomy Sunday up on Stuff?”

“Okay. But let those Vampire’s Wifers know to listen with caution! It’s a dangerous song.”

“Keep playing, babe, I like it.”

And he’s off again.

Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy

My hours are slumberless

Dearest the shadows

I live with are numberless

Little white flowers

Will never awaken you,

Not where the black coach

Of sorrow has taken you

Angels have no thought

Of ever returning you

Would they be angry

If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy Sunday

With shadows I spend it all

My heart and I

Have decided to end it all

Soon there'll be prayers

And candles are lit, I know

Let them not weep

Let them know, that I'm glad to go

Death is no dream

For in death I'm caressing you

With the last breath of my soul

I'll be blessing you

Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming

I wake and I find you asleep

On deep in my heart, dear

Darling, I hope

That my dream hasn't haunted you

My heart is telling you

How much I wanted you

Gloomy Sunday

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