Six String King
By - Fractured
Strumming steel for the sake
of my sanity. Boredom carries
no bliss, it's for thy sound of
this orchestrated kiss. Plea
for a trade of life's, but beg
just for a dime. I'd recommend
living free but it's only a joy
for a short time. If I received
a dollar for every glare I receive,
then I'd be a millionaire covered
in green. But looks do not pay,
and homeless don't get paid. So
making a living is like finding the
cure for Aids. I sit in this alley-
way, playing my instrument. And
people just look at me in a way
that says "just surrender kid".
But I can't give up, I just can't
quit. Because making a small
living isn't just important. I'll
never have a hit on the radio,
and I'll never have a name in
lights. Because the homeless
are ignored, no matter the talent
that they might hold. The smiles
that they've sold. Doesn't mean
a thing beyond the life that they've
bought. A musician is a musician,
if only the world saw this. And would
listen to a musicians bliss. But I remain
in this alleyway, with my bits of nothing.
With respect from my kind, years of
experience. Years of a name beyond
commond sense.
Still being named, the six string king.