In which our hero, who was born to write songs, tries to figure out his life with help from the interviewer.
Monday, January 20, 2014
my turn
I grew up too fast
I was above reproach
I longed to fly first class
instead I sat in coach
I shut my eyes
and shared the blame
I waited for my turn
but it never came
it never came
I drew my name in sand
by the light of the moon
wanted to join the band
but I was out of tune
scaled high peaks
in yosemite
looking for
the remedy
the remedy
I've been driving fast
past the county line
I been drinking baby's
bluebird wine
I been sleeping
in my shoes
fighting to be
anyone I choose
how the fuck could I lose?
gimme a pigfoot
and I bottle of beer
I'll find my own way
out of here
either way
it's just a game
I waited for my turn
it never came
This is just some free writing, man. Just whatever came to mind. I stole some ideas from Rodney Crowell and Bessie Smith.
That's an interesting pair, farmboy.
Ain't it? Writing is so fuckin' weird, man.
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