The rain is in, with the breeze,
Spraying water on me with care
Wetting my hair and cheeks,
With fine drops of nature’s love.

Rains make me smile, reminding
The best nostalgic moment of past,
Locking me to the childhood days,
Which seeded love to the life.

I know rain as the noisy campanion,
Of a lonely wandering teenager,
Dropping from the green leaves,
Dancing on my window pane.

I know rain as  a muscian, playing
Notes on my roof top during,
Wee hours of night, when,
Crickets are awake, rest asleep.

I love the rains, which touch,
The ground and merge to the sand,
Evoke the fragrance of Mother earth,
To heal the wounds without scars.

The plane touched down after a long flight that was true torture the whiskey had long since ran dry the coke had left me
with a headache and the movie was freaking me out
****** you twilight.

Had a seventeen year old girl chose this film that reminded me
I needed to call my wife  to tell her I couldnt pick her up after highschool.

Apon landing I was met by strange  men all named bobby  
im guessing to be a cop here you had to all be related
and named bobby  fine with me.

These men unlike there many named brothers across the pond didnt
have any wepons  dear lord man   wait a minute  take mine  what nice men these bobby clan were.
what was even better was this magic land had the sense to give them all the same name   so when you were drunk you wouldnt forget it.
Why did we not do this   the women  as well.

Apon searching my always ghost town of a wallet  one of the bobby
clan replied hey you know skeeter to?
Jesus  I wont even comment on that.

Apon my exit from the airport i was greated by something that was
a true blessing to any hungover eyes.
No sun  dear lord  I also noticed these people had already been drinking.  
For they were all driving on the wrong  side of the road.
London was rainy  cold   and soon to be Gonzo.

My trip began  like any good writer slash reporter slash honrny ******* drunks would begin  at the liquor store.
the bobby clan had taken my moonshine slash rocket fuel
oh well  least the plane wouldnt be the only thing flying tonight.

The strange little speaking man  who drove the taxi rambled on  as i applyed my social lubricate  better known as *****  how i did miss wild turkey.

You fancey a ***?
Sir your attractive but i dont swing that way.
One thing seemed clear these people were all drunk
it brought a tear to my eye  I had finally found my people.

Wanna see the palace?
Why not although  after i had been to cessars  this place seemed
kinda odd how did they expect it to make any money
with it all locked up?

Allthough the silent man outside with the black furry quetip hat was a draw.
The strange big eared  man i met in the garden after  my  
well little fence hop hell  being the human quetip didnt say anything
I figured he wouldnt mind to much.

Well the big eared man was rather plessant  after i offred him some whiskey  sorry  its a little weak  thoose bobby boys took my good ****.
No worries you crazy *******  wanna ***.
****** man Ive  told you guys  im straight.

After my exit  and brief *** kicking seems thoose quetip people are silent but deadly   my face soon kissed the pavement
as one replied  I belive him to be the one that wasnt special said thats what you get yank for speaking to the prince.

These people were worse than i thought  I was a big fan of purple rain.
dont belive a word that man said  besides he's a racesist.
never trust a man who can jump outta a  airplane and glide to the ground  unless he's dumbo.

One place to always seek refuge when in doubt  was a pub
least these people werent obsessed with if i was gay.
yes like a man in a church filled with like minded crazy people i was home.

Sharing a booth with a strange man creature who called himself Keith something  what a drunk genius he was indeed.
rambling hours on end about **** I seldom understood.
but as long as he was buying i was happy.

Poor guy  seems he was in a band  but with a name like the Rolling Stones how far could they go.
after much more rambling and some bad jokes we were off
me and my struggling guitar playing friend  who dare I say it was on drugs  I had met my true idol.

Always up for a prank we found areselves in he country
loading a bmw full  of horse crap  when a old woman from
the mansion did appear  under the inffluence  anger with pitch fork in hand.

As we fled  as well as staggerd  I asked my drunk pirate friend
you know that old woman looked  Paul  Maccartney That is Paul
Maccartney you ****** my sruggling sorta insane friend replied.

Running through the woods drunk at night is always fun
aside from thoose dam trees.
i was knocked flat as if i had been socked by skeeter
as i came to there the  legend stood overtop me
pitch fork raised wait befor you **** me sir please can i have
one last request.

I should have known Sir Paul  replied  happens all the time who should i make the autograph out to?
***** that amigo i pulled out my bible better known as my flask taking   one last drink of fire water  this was gonna ****.

When all the sudden a banshee's scream echoed in the forrest.
******* mate were done for  sir Pauls fear was clear as the wet spot on the front of his pants.

Tree's rattled what kind of monsters did this country hold?
the howl closer ****** Paul get of my back   im not
your old song writting buddy.

From the sky the bashee did appear  but had little or no intrest in me
The battle was epic the *** stained warrior put up valiant  and tearful fight.

The kicker was when she removerd her leg  like some sort of Brittish  samuri  all i can say is hot.
She swung like Mickey Mantle   or maybe it was mouse im not a big footall fan anyway.

Sir Paul knocked stone cold out  the she demon turned her attention to me.   And you!
She howled her leg wepon raised high in the moonlight
it was i know what your thinking romantic.

I deffended myself as best i knew how by falling to my knees crying pleading for my life  dam you bobby clan were are you now.

But to my suprize she only laughed silly yank  help me go through his pockets  befor the old ******* wakes up.
we searched finding many thing's hey whats this a flash light?
****** i should have known better than to look through a grown man's pockets.  
Had I not learned anything from my uncle.


The moon the she banshe with the removable leg
My drunk struggling muscian friend from a little blues band it was a magic night indeed.

As I sit by the fire  looking at it hanging over the mantle.
I wonder when will i again return to this  strange and Gonzo place.
And how the hell I was gonna explain were that leg came from.

Untill next time kids stay crazy
Gonzo

A musician lives in solitude.
His only friends- the notes on the page and the sound of the symphony.

His best friend is his instrument.
Which he treats with the utmost care.
The band room is his first home, 
The only natural habitat.

Music is his escape,
He falls into the notes on the page, 
Letting their simplicity and complexity, swallow him.

He becomes a different person when he plays.
Silent, yet making even the most serious person, cry.

He needs not to use words, his music is enough.
When he sits with an ensemble, they do not know him,

Yet you can see him, feeling each persons aura, and melding together with them, 
All to create music. 

Music is the only thing more powerful than words,
A musician knows this. 
This is why he remains silent.
No words are needed.

He knows that each and every soul will, no matter be impacted. 
Every adult and child- will be affected when he picks his horn up. 

A musician lives in solitude.
His only friend is music.