Under a tree he sits and sings,
strumming away to his heart's desire.
A man with a thought,
And a heart filled with fire.

You can hear it in his voice,
Both the pain and the pleasure.
The roughness from his throat,
As he tells you what he treasures.

You'll never see him without that guitar at his side.
He may lie when he speaks,
But there's no mistaking the truth when he sings.