It ai'nt a tough call.
With a broke father and a never-home mom,
Ai'nt a tough call at all.
Fate hung to my boat's sail,
No food, no coins, just my violin case,
And a fiery urge to follow my heart's trail.
Beaten, bruised, bleeding, i woke to the evening moon,
In the city of hanging dreams, and sweared to self;
"I'll rule the radio soon"
Cleaned tables, walked dogs and ran errands a few,
Survived weeks on raw fish and stolen eggs,
with haystacks to warm the tired night's dew.
Years down, an odd chance hit to play the midnight blues,
My Lord had pressing issues on hand i presume,
for I made music, while powercrisis made the news.
YET....
The melody of the wind,
Ignites a fire within,
that consumes all regrets and pain,
and leaves an unfliching armour....
of humour and HOPE!
