We all sat and watched this man, a lonely heart with just one plan, to make it to the very top
My grandmother, she sat with this man, taking him by his rather naive guitar-hands and telling him that all of the great musicians did just one thing in the beginning, simply packed their bags and ran, while also managing to sing along inside of their own head
Early in the morning, last thing at night before they went to bed, heavy-headed for sure, but the purest of the pure
The first train on out of here, eyes wide open, willing to lend an all too flamboyant ear to constructive criticism
Wonderful words now and then, so eloquently penned that they somehow managed to steer him clear of any kind of mind-prison
My father, he sat with this man, said so long as he made some money all should turn out grand, pull a pint in between finding the right kinds of words, all in the name of research, of course
After all of this, he took out a cigarette and perched it above his son’s left ear
He knew he was deft, but in the end it would all depend upon how well the music did the talking… singing rather
He turned to his ailing father and lovingly stroked the weakened side of his head