I wanted to write a slow songnI wanted to sing in stark delicate moodsnI wanted to sigh at the end of a recordnI wanted to cry and call it the bluesnnBut I never like the songs with one chordnThey say they make you thinknBut they never cease to make me borednAnd I can’t endurenWhen an override, sad sack chorus gets ignorednnI used to walk like Otis ReddingnI used to swing and sway to his beatnI used to scream and squeal like a trumpetnI used to sing like a Hammond B3nnThat’s why I never like the ones with no wordsnThey say they help you see the little things that can’t be heardnAnd that sounds absurdnI hope by now you can see the irony isn’t lost on mennAnd if you listen to a song with no drum linenThey say it makes us freenBut it sounds to me like it’s out of timenBut hey I don’t mindnIt’s like that avant-garde modern poetry that doesn’t rhymennSo how did you like my slow song?nWhat did you think of the stark delicate moods?nAnd how was the sigh at the end of the record?nHow was the cry? Would you call it the blues?nHow did you like my slow song?nAnd how did you like my slow song?nWell how did you like my slow song?nAnd how did you like my slow song?