Mechanic s blues

MECHANIC'S BLUES

Mechanic wasn't ever more than his official job title.
Mechanic was never more than his official job title:
It was but a formality—in fact, he was almost idle.

He was given a toolbox the day he first took the job.
Screwdrivers and wrenches and hammers—like from some gift shop.
He promised to keep it all shipshape—no rust, no dust.
He was just a rookie, trying to justify the trust.

The old lady in charge seemed to be a little upset.
The old lady in charge seemed to be a little upset.
Try to keep things in order. Don't break anything. Take care, she said.

So, his job description was apparently a little vague.
Even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could break.
Even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could fix.
It's the damn old dam—the old dam with a lot of leaks.

Yes, it was his first job, a very strange job indeed.
Yes, it was his first job, a very strange job indeed.
Just to stay there all the time, doing nothing, for there was no need.

He was trying to keep himself busy with a useful task.
He was there—all alone, with no one in sight to ask.
The old dam was now all his to explore and tend.
Soon he understood what the "take care" old lady really meant.

All that rusty machinery, still working on the God's sheer grace.
All that rusty machinery, still working on the God's sheer grace.
And then water—all over the place, claiming every space.

The brackets on huge bolts much bigger than the biggest wrench.
They were creaking and groaning, as if almost unable to clench.
Turbines were coughing, rattling, crackling, all about to crack.
The whole thing, it seemed, was nothing but a total wreck.

There were books in a closet, he was bored so he read all five.
There were books in a closet, he was bored so he read all five.
That's how he learned he'd better run for his own dear life.

Something on hydrology, hydraulics, on turbines and  pumps—
And probability theory, which gave him pretty strong goosebumps.
Now armed with the knowledge he was going down the slippery stairs.
Everything was obvious,  except just why nobody cares.

There was an allowance, the postman came in now and then.
There was an allowance, the postman came in now and then.
Ah, she's always been this way—he said—the oldie, don't you worry, man.

He came up with something, he wrote the letter to resign.
He came up with something, he wrote the letter to resign.
There was no response at all, so silence was itself the sign.

The allowance came in again and he was by himself, all there.
He knew what he knew, but why he personally had to care?
He was recording the readings, parameters and yes whatnot.
Handing the letters to the postman, without a second thought.

He managed to grow old in that his so called workplace.
He managed to grow old in that his so called workplace.
He had just enough of everything —let alone all the time and space.

He strolled along the dam sometimes when he was in the mood.
He'd developed a somewhat, say, philosophical attitude.
He was looking upstream, and he really couldn't see the banks.
Down below there was a thin weak stream—at least a trickle, well, thanks.

Not on my watch, he thought, watching as everything drifts.
Not on my watch, he thought, watching as everything drifts.
He was the only watchman there—not a soul to switch the shifts.

The old dam seemed to have been there all the way.
No one remembers now how it was built, they say.
But there was something older, much older than whatever's there,
To which the whole dam was no more than just a fleeting flare.

The river was the thing, she was there no matter what's the news.
The river was the thing, she was there no matter what's the news.
And whatever is compound one day is bound to diffuse.

He used to talk with her—there wasn't anyone there, anyway.
He wandered: if there be an answer, what she then could say.
He listened to her voice—a murmur and sometimes a splash.
She answered him one day. And surely, that was quite a flash.

It was fun—she said—you know, to be just for a while this lake.
It was fun—she said—you know, to be just for a while this lake.
But there's something in my way—my flow—that I'm about to break.

When they came—a couple of thousand hands with a couple of brains—
I knew they couldn't make whatever that somehow remains.
You're sitting on the top of what again will be the riverbed.
Today's the day. This will be over—then she said—no later than sunset.

At first he thought to run, but then he thought again and then he stopped.
At first he thought to run, but then he thought again and then he stopped.
Why not mingle a little with that to which I am but a drop?


The watchman by that time was something more for him  than just a job.
It was the way of life he managed to somehow adopt.
I'll hardly see at least anything  this big again.
To miss the whole party—I wonder, if that would be sane.

Wouldn't that be right if nature finally just takes its course?
Wouldn't that be right if nature finally just takes its course?
He whispered to the river: I'll stay here—to the end—all yours.


I am eighty percent water—he said—already, anyway.
Let's round it up to a hundred and come what may.
I'm nothing more than just a way to be—for this old crumbling dam.
Some optional addition—and that's all, it seems, I really am.

And this old lady is a passing way for you to be, I think.
And this old lady is a passing way for you to be, I think.
I'll watch you shaking all these off, so now you do your thing.

Was I ever something more than just a way to see and feel and speak?
There are no wrenches to fix this wretched inherent leak.
Why run and stay away when all this is just about to start?
For the first time, what I really want to do here is to play my part.

There was no one for me, except the dam, the damsel in distress.
There was no one for me, except the dam, the damsel in distress.
There wasn't out there for me... well, anything, as you may guess.

I've crawled throughout my loneliness, came out on the other side.
There's nothing but the vast expanse—with you, as my only guide.
It seems I've got enough—after all, what more is still there to get?
All of you here, just for me alone—and there's so much ahead...

He remembers something that should have been done a long time ago.
He remembers something that should have been done a long time ago.
There's a bulb to change, a fence to paint—so, it's time to go.

After all, this was his job, to keep some things in order, just this much.
So, there's still a time here for a kind of, say, the final touch.
Didn't he—this morning, as usual—brush his teeth,
Having no one here to talk to, well not to mention kiss?

He's dancing on the edge with a paintbrush in his wrinkly hand.
He's dancing on the edge with a paintbrush in his wrinkly hand.
And the river whispers tenderly to him: hey, this won't be the end.

There's a place where I belong, I'll take you all the way right there.
The ocean is the real end, you'll love it there much, I swear.
I do know my whole self, the entire length all along.
So, I'm already there, at home where both of us, indeed, belong.

You were some part of the old dam, which was in turn for me a part.
You were some part of the old dam, which was in turn for me a part.
There's even something more than me, you'll see. It's time, we should depart.

She moves. The dam was never able to hold her—this becomes so clear...
Bursting irons, flying stones falling everywhere far and near.
He's watching—standing still, then carried with a raging flow.
He's surprised a bit with all this happening—oh, so slow...

She gently throws him up and then she softly catches him again.
She gently throws him up and then she softly catches him again.
For him, there's no more fear at all, as well there's no more pain.

She's almost bursting out laughing, she's such a happy girl.
She's flowing widely, flooding wildly—oh, everything and all.
She says—there is a secret gift for you I'm eager now to bestow:

Forget the "you", the "me", the "ocean". All there is but H2O.


But still we flow into the ocean still, no matter what we know.
But still we flow into the ocean still, no matter what we know.
And so we will. And so we will—until there's still a flow.