You call me in tears with the tales of your woes, and ***** about stress in your life.
When I compare your stories to those of my own, they all seem to pale in the light.

Forgive my lack of empathy,  I've not your means to escape.
All I have are these six steel strings and the occasional too much to drink.

I'll also sit in the dark, with the occasional spark, to float on my own cloud;
While I sit in the studio and play my music, with the volume far too loud.

So crank up the amps, lose yourself in the sound,
drown out the world, and have another round;  Cause were pouring for keeps...

(*******)