I’m listening and it’s breaking my heart.
My entire heart, every part of it.
You wear your ragged glory like a patriot who knows the jig has been up since the jug was uncorked.
No one’s shooting straight.
Gumption has been outlawed and so has chutzpah and any belief in yourself.
I watched as you cradled your guitar and it made me wonder where the baby and the bathwater had gone off to.
I know people talked while you played at Victorian’s.
I also know how much it pissed me off because I knew you’re a voice crying in the wilderness.
Here’s the problem with people who don’t listen, they oftentimes have to rinse and repeat because they failed to hear the flowers their first go around.
There’s an engineer and he’s blind, but he’s holding onto his crucifix all the same because God’s either gonna show up or at the very least deliver a bullet to put this sad son of a bitch out of his misery.
I’m listening and it’s driving the stake even deeper into my heart.
We broke bread together and then we broke heads and when we were through all that existed were these chords and your plaintive moan. Thank you.