He played so well,
sitting next to me,
he played so well
strumming stings
that plucked my soul
he played so well
he made me think,
how can a man that good
be sitting next to me? I sat there
quietly flowing with his harmonies.
He glanced at me, tears blinding
as he kept playing, strumming,
his high pitch catching me-Ging!
I stayed
stunned
listening.
I wondered
why I couldn't hear before
the guitar wasn't my instrument
that man strumming melodies
reciting history
telling stories
he turned to me, whispered,
your turn, my son. |