John Prine dead: The singer-songwriter's life and how he sang about death.

About the Song

Few songwriters could paint longing and heartache with such plainspoken beauty as John Prine, and his 2005 track “Long Monday” is a perfect example of his gentle lyrical touch. Featured on his Grammy-winning album Fair & Square, this song feels like a letter sent straight from a lonely heart—tender, worn, and quietly aching.

“Long Monday” is a love song wrapped in absence. It tells the story of someone missing their sweetheart after a weekend together, facing the slow drag of the days ahead with nothing but memories and hope to hold onto. Prine opens with lines as easy as a country breeze:
“You and me / Sittin’ in the back of my memory / Like a honey bee / Buzzin’ ’round a glass of sweet Chablis.”
Right away, we’re drawn into his unique poetic world, where everyday images—backroads, old motel rooms, the sound of rain—become vessels for deep emotion. There’s a warmth and melancholy woven together here, like a smile through tears.

What makes “Long Monday” so memorable is its mood of quiet yearning. Prine doesn’t wail or wallow—he just tells it like it is. His voice, aged and raspy by this point in his career, carries a kind of gentle truth. It doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to be honest. And that’s what you get in every line. You feel the empty chair, the echo of laughter now faded, and the slow tick of time until the weekend brings her back again.

Musically, the song glides along with a smooth, rootsy rhythm—laid-back guitar strums, soft harmonies, and a subtle mandolin that shimmers like a memory. It’s the kind of song you’d play on a long drive home from a visit you didn’t want to end. Or on a quiet Monday morning, when the house is too still and your heart’s a little sore.

For older listeners—especially those who’ve loved deeply, lost, and waited—“Long Monday” hits home. It captures that universal feeling: of wishing time would hurry up so you can be with the one who makes life sweet again.

In true John Prine fashion, there’s no drama here, just real life. He understood that sometimes the greatest stories are the smallest ones—the kind lived out across quiet days and long weeks, with love as the constant thread.Goodbye, John Prine | The Batavian

Video 

Lyrics: Long Monday

You and me
Sittin’ in the back my memory
Like a honey bee
Buzzin’ ’round a glass of sweet Chablis
Radio’s on
Windows rolled up
And my mind’s rolled down
Headlights shining
Like silver moons
Rollin’ on the ground

We made love
In everyway love can be made
And we made time
Look like time
Could never fade
Friday Night
We both made the guitar hum
Saturday made Sunday feel
Like it would never come

Gonna be a long Monday
Sittin’ all alone on a mountain
By a river that has no end
Gonna be a long Monday
Stuck like the tick of a clock
That’s come unwound – again

Soul to soul
Heart to heart
And cheek to cheek
Come on baby
Give me a kiss
That’ll last all week

The thought of you leavin’ again
Brings me down
The promise of
Your sweet love
Brings me around

It’s gonna be a long Monday
Sittin’ all alone on a mountain
By a river that has no end
It’s gonna be a long Monday
Stuck like the tick of a clock
That’s come unwound – again
And again

You Missed

THE KID WHO GREW UP IN A DESERT SHACK — AND BECAME COUNTRY MUSIC’S GREATEST STORYTELLER He was born in a shack outside Glendale, Arizona. No running water. No real home. His family of ten moved from tent to tent across the desert like drifters. His father drank. His parents split when he was twelve. The only warmth he ever knew came from his grandfather — a traveling medicine man called “Texas Bob” — who filled a lonely boy’s head with tales of cowboys, outlaws, and the Wild West. Those stories never left him. Marty Robbins taught himself guitar in the Navy, came home with nothing, and started singing in nightclubs under a fake name — because his mother didn’t approve. Then he wrote “El Paso.” A four-and-a-half-minute epic no radio station wanted to play. They said it was too long. The people didn’t care. It went #1 on both country and pop charts — and became the first country song to ever win a Grammy. 16 #1 hits. 94 charting records. Two Grammys. The Hall of Fame. Hollywood Walk of Fame. And somehow — he also raced NASCAR. 35 career races. His final one just a month before his heart gave out. He survived his first heart attack in 1969. Then a second. Then a third. After each one, he went right back — to the stage, to the track, to the music. He died at 57. Eight weeks after being inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame. His own words say it best: “I’ve done what I wanted to do.” Born with nothing. Died a legend.

FORGET KENNY ROGERS. FORGET WILLIE NELSON. ONE SONG OF DON WILLIAMS MADE THE WHOLE WORLD SLOW DOWN AND LISTEN. When people talk about country music’s warm side, they reach for the storytellers. The poets. The men with battle in their voice. But there was a man who needed none of that. No outlaw image. No drama. No broken bottles or barroom fights. Just a six-foot frame, a quiet denim jacket, and a baritone so deep and still it felt like the music was coming up from the earth itself. They called him the Gentle Giant. And he was the only man in country music who could make the whole room go quiet — not with pain, but with peace. In 1980, Don Williams recorded a song so simple it had no right to be that powerful. No strings trying too hard. No production reaching for something it wasn’t. Just a man, his voice, and a declaration so plain and so true that it crossed every border country music had ever drawn. That song hit No. 1 on the country charts. It crossed over to pop. It became a hit in Australia, Europe, and New Zealand. Eric Clapton — one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived — admitted he was a devoted fan. The mayor of a city named a day after him. And decades later, the song still plays at weddings, funerals, and every quiet moment in between when words alone aren’t enough. Kenny Rogers had his gambler. Willie had his road. Don Williams had three minutes of pure belief — and the whole world borrowed it. Some singers fill the room with noise. Don Williams filled it with something you couldn’t name but couldn’t forget. Do you know which song of Don Williams that is?