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There's a kid out on my corner -- hear him strumming like a fool
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Shivering in his dungarees -- but still he's going to school
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His cheeks are made of peach fuzz -- his hopes may be the same
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But he's signed up as a soldier out to play the music game
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There are fake patches on his jacket -- he's used bleach to fade his jeans
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With a brand new stay pressed shirt -- and some creased and wrinkled dreams
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His face a blemish garden -- but his eyes are virgin clear
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His voice is Chicken Little's -- But he's hearing Paul Revere
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When he catches himself giggling -- he forces up a sneer
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Though he'd rather have a milk shake -- he keeps forcing down the beer
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Just another folkie -- late in coming down the pike
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Riding his guitar -- he left Kid brother with his bike
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And he's got Guthrie running in his bones
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He's the hobo kid who's left his home
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And his Beatles records and the Rolling Stones
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This boy is staying acoustic.
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There's Seeger singing in his heart
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He hopes his songs will somehow start
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To heal the cracks that split apart
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America gone plastic
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And now there's Dylan dripping from his mouth
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He's hitching himself way down south
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To learn a little black and blues
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From old street men who paid their dues
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'Cause they knew they had nothing to lose
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They knew it
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So they just got to it
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With cracked old Gibsons and red clay shoes
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Playing 1-4-5 chords like good news
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And cursed with skin that calls for blood
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They put their face and feet in mud
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But oh they learned the music from way down there
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The real ones learn it somewhere
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Strum your guitar -- sing it kid
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Just write about your feelings -- not the things you never did
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Inexperience -- it once had cursed me
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But your youth is no handicap -- it's what makes you thirsty
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Hey, kid you know you can hear your footsteps as you're kicking up the dust
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And the rustling in the shadows tells you secrets you can trust
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The capturing of whispers is the way to write a song
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It's when you get to microphones the music can go wrong
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You can't see the audience with spotlights in your eyes
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Your feet can't feel the highway from where the Lear jet flies
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When you glide in silent splendor in your padded limousines
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Only you are crying there behind the silver screen
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Now you battle dragons -- but they'll all turn into frogs
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When you grab the wheel of fortune -- you get caught up in the cog
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First your art turns into craft -- then the yahoos start to laugh
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Then you'll hear the jackals howl 'cause they love to watch the fall
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They're the lost ones out there feeding on the wounded and the bleeding
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They always are the first to see the cracks upon the walls
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When I started this song I was still thirty-three
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The age that Mozart died and sweet Jesus was set free
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Keats and Shelley too soon finished, Charley Parker would be
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And I fantasized some tragedy'd be soon curtailing me
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Well just today I had my birthday -- I made it thirty-four
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Mere mortal, not immortal, not star-crossed anymore
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I've got this problem with my aging I no longer can ignore
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A tame and toothless tabby can't produce a lion's roar
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And I can't help being frightened on these midnight afternoons
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When I ask the loaded questions -- Why does winter come so soon?
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And where are all the golden girls that I was singing for
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The daybreak chorus of my dreams serenades no more
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Yeah the minute man is going soft -- the mirror's on the shelf
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Only when the truth's up there -- can you fool yourself
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I am the aged jester -- who won't gracefully retire
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A clumsy clown without a net caught staggering on the high wire
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Yesterday's a collar that has settled round my waist
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Today keeps slipping by me, it leaves no aftertaste
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Tomorrow is a daydream, the future's never true
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Am I just a fading fire or a breeze passing through?
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Hello my Country
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I once came to tell everyone your story
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Your passion was my poetry
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And your past my most potent glory
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Your promise was my prayer
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Your hypocrisy my nightmare
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And your problems fill my present
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Are we both going somewhere?
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| Step right up young lady -- Your two hun |
