Wandering Widsith’s Original Coronavirus Homesick Blues (Widsið maðolade, wordhord onleac…)

Wandering Widsith’s Original Coronavirus Homesick Blues.

(Widsið maðolade,  wordhord onleac…)

They call me Wandering Widsith, Widsith is my name,

They call me Wandering Widsith, Widsith is my name,

The way that they mistreat me, it’s a low down crying shame.

I used to be a singer, singing praises for my pay,

I used to be a singer, singing praises for my pay,

Now I’ve got the symptoms, I’ve got no place to stay.

I’ve wandered over Europe, with my harp and my word-hoard,

I’ve wandered over Europe, with my harp and my word-hoard,

But times are getting hard now, they won’t give me bed and board.

They want to lock me up and leave me, that’s the way it seems,

They want to lock me up and leave me, that’s the way it seems,

To keep me at a distance, so I can’t unlock my dreams.



An eighth century (?) blues (updated)

NB Just a song, no symptoms here.