Country Bars & A Singerís Pride
Iíve been singing songs, in country bars,
since I was, seventeen.
Dim light and all that smoke,
hell, I canít, even see my selfÖ,
The waitress moves by memory,
from the tables to the bar
She knows everybodyís name,
from BudÖ, to Lone Star.
I hear the fight, thatís goin on,
the bouncerís crackn headsÖ,
My, guitar donít mean a thing,
Just, a bar-room, distraction
The parking lot is full of trucks,
And men, who have had enough
Then, the waitress, hands me a note,
bout a limousine, out front.
Seems, that someone, heard my songs,
but their afraid to come insideÖ,?
They want to talk, about my songs
and, a new, way of lifeÖ,
Canít believe Iím standing here,
with a limousine, just outsideÖ,
But, Iíve never walked out on a gig,
and a singerÖ, has his pride.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|luc (22.214.171.124) -- Tuesday, August 12 2003, 03:06 pm|
you sound like someone who would really be a good singer. i mean personality wise, since obviously i havent heard your voice. anyways, i liked the poem, how it goes and such. and the last stanza was good too...
|Ben (126.96.36.199) -- Tuesday, August 12 2003, 07:04 pm|
Hey, Martin! This one paints a picture of a familiar scene, has a story and a little drama to it. It took me back to some places I've been through. It leaves some to the imagination, too! Thanks! Keep Rockin'!
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