Blame it on Logic


I still write on paper,
I still use a pen;
Made in the Fifties,
The Sixties I am.

Bless me, sweet Mama,
Bless if you can;
A turn of the cent’ry,
A teenager again.

The turn of the cent’ry
Is where I now am,
But born to the Sixties
A Rock-n-Roll Man.

My Pop was the Forties,
A World War II man;
Mama had sorties
With him – Here I am!

A Shake-n-Bake baby,
The Sixties began,
A Rock-n-Roll man.

Bless me, Sweet Mama,
Bless if you can,
Born in the Sixties,
A Teenager again.

Sometimes in Country,
But really back then,
Basically Baby,
Just Rock-n-Roll Man.

The Teens in the turn
Of a Cent’ry began,
The New Me – Who knew me
A teenager back when

Back in the Sixties
A teenager still then,
Back to the Sixties
Where Magic began.

Blame it on Logic,
Lay it on thin,
Shake up the Madness
Of Magic I’m in.

I will write on paper,
And still use a pen;
Bless me, sweet Mama,
a-cursed to the end.

Caught up in magic,
A Rock-n-Roll man,
Blame it on logic
That’s where it began.

Blame it on Logic,
It’s tragic, but then,
Ad infinitum
And ad hominem.

©2015, Marvin Welborn
3 April 2015.


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