The musician
Nothing more
&
nothing less than
a travelling instrument,
with
the voice of a thousand ashtrays
&
the past of a thousand mistakes.
Living life out a suitcase,
and abused stained sheet music,
a sweet movement,
some say.
Some said he was to cute to change;
he would make it someday,
but for now,
just feeling those home town blues,
in a city so far away.
Take a walk in those shoes,
one size too small.
Let the soles talk in rhythms
played,
the beat of the drum conundrum.
Done
London,
LA,
New York
&
Lisbon;
Still searching
for something;
The band missed a beat,
and now he misses the the band.
He’s got the crowd in the palms of his hands,
but they’ll never understand;
the music
man.