He hang it on a twang
In every line he sang
It came from the deepest part of nature
Not clothed in the eloquence of stature
The low thrumming of the guitar strings
Pulled the heart stronger than any man sings
The wild wail of the violin
Scooped up the heart and pulled again
The words he crafted
Conveyed a life that had him recanted
As though he had been the sin
And life had renounced him
The artist layers deep
And in my chair I'll keep
Slowly rotating the empty glass
As these feelings around me pass