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A couple of years back |
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I come across a great and wasted friend of mine |
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In the hallway of a recording studio |
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And while he was reciting some poetry to me that he'd written |
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And I saw that he was about a step away from dyin' |
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And I couldn't help but wonder why |
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And the lines of this song occurred to me |
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I'm happy to say he's no longer wasted |
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And he's got him a good woman |
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And I'd like to dedicate this to John and June |
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Who helped show me how to beat the devil |
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It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row |
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And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold |
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To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul |
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Keep the chilly wind off my guitar |
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My thirsty wanted whiskey, my hungry needed beans |
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But it'd been of month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream |
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So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams |
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I left my pride and stepped inside a bar |
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Actually, I guess you'd could call it a Tavern |
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Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor |
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Friendly shadows |
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I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar |
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And in the mirror I could see him checkin' me and my guitar |
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And he turned and said, "Come up here boy, and show us what you are" |
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I said, "I'm dry", He bought me a beer |
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He nodded at my guitar and said yeah, "It's a tough life, ain't it?" |
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I just looked at him and he said, "You ain't makin' any money, are you?" |
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I said, "You've been readin' my mail" |
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He just smiled and said, "Let me see that guitar" |
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"I've got something you oughta hear", Then he laid it on me |
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If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen |
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To the things that you are sayin', who do you thinks gonna hear |
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And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about |
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Are things they could be changin', who do you thinks gonna care? |
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There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind |
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Who were crucified for what they tried to show |
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And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time |
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'Cos the truth remains that no one wants to know |
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Well the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before |
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Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door |
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When no one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor |
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And lonesome was more than a state of mind |
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You see, the devil haunts a hungry man |
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If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him |
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I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing |
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Then I stole his song |
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And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen |
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To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear |
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And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about |
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Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care |
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I was born a lonely singer and I'm bound to die the same |
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But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul |
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And if I never have a nickel, I won't ever die ashamed |
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'Cos I don't believe that no one wants to know |
