Pure music, is just three chords and some homemade truth
Much like the glory days, of New York Yankees and Babe Ruth
It’s like eating chicken one day, feathers the next
Or totally in love, ending in a divorce court, with no respect
She can make you cry, smile, think or dream, how bizarre
It can sound like being inside, an old worn out guitar
Being perfectly picked and plucked, as one should
Fully surrounded by good ole seasoned wood
Like a community is unity, which once went without saying
It’ll help propel the voice of the next generation, in the making
No matter where you are in the world, that’s admiring
Music could be the meaning, to what it’s all about, so awe inspiring.