Esperando señales
me ahogue con humo
y rompiendo promesas
me dejaste sin fuerzas.

Mi guitarra llora
y se quiebra en soledad,
mi corazón se esconde
tras las cortinas asesinas.
Tu voz se vuelve lejana
y yo me pierdo en el olvido.

Guitarra canta conmigo
guitarra llora en re sostenido
guitarra llena mi pecho de tinta
y escribe más versos guitarra.

Slow dance with me
at 3 a.m
to the sound of rock and roll,
keep up with me if you can.

The notes of your guitar,
the way you play your song,
your hand between my thighs
makes my flower grow.

Messy black hair,
cigarette smell,
sweet ***** lips,
enchanting me under a spell.

****** friends,
he sits and stares.
Burning smoke through my throat,
he doesn’t even care.

Motionless wrapped in your arms
Is this another way of suicide?
He’s making me drool all over the place,
fast calloused fingers through the strings with grace.

Sitting on his lap,
I can hear his heart.
He could soften mine,
fill that missing part.

Black and blue,
I don’t want to know
who you’re playing songs for
late at night tomorrow.

Cause I’m only for fridays,
I’m only for fun
but it hurts so good,
I adore when he’s bad.

The door opened, he entered
There was a whoosh of air
The Bluesman looked bedraggled
And he grabbed himself a chair

Cy, came out, he heard the bell
Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile
He said "I see the storm is worse"
"It's gonna keep up for a while"

The Bluesman looked around the store
Saw a guitar on the wall
"She's an old one hanging over there"
He called to Cy, now down the hall

He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some
He said "she's got a lot to say"
He went back to the wooden chair
And the Bluesman, he did play

"There's lots of music in this girl"
"So many songs not sung"
He looked back at the hook behind
Where this old guitar had hung

He sang songs about Jesus
about freedom, and the moon
Amazingly for the guitars age
It wasn't out of tune

Cy went to the pawn stores  back
returning with a flask
He'd brought the Bluesman medicin
The Bluesman continued with his task

"This old girls a treasure trove"
"She's just so full of words"
"Songs kept hidden for so long"
"Songs just waiting to be heard"

He played some more, the storm let up
He thanked Cy, took his leave
"An old guitar needs to be played"
"It's lost songs to be grieved"

"You know that you can play her"
"Whenever you come by"
The Bluesman turned and smiled
He held the flask given by Cy

"That old guitar is special"
"She's an old soul, just like me"
"I thank you for the offer"
"Time will tell, we'll see"

The Bluesman left the pawnshop
It was if he wasn't there
He went out back behind Gianni's
And sang his music to the air

I wrote these songs for you,
The ones you won't hear..
The ones that torture me endlessly
When I pick up my guitar
And try to sing..
You made my most peaceful pastime
A pain, sweetheart..
For your voice
Still echoes in the distance
Of my fading chords
My heartbreak trembling within

Guitar


Pluck the strings of your guitar,
Pluck them one by one at par,
The notes may be different if you hear,
The song it sings is but so unique and clear.

These strings I just strike
Makes my slumber fade like morning mist,
And the music that streams out,
Gave me a life that is not on any list.

(by: Khan, BA)