Instruments I've got things, So many things, That I don't know what to do, Things with strings, Fender and Gibson, Render a song (or, maybe two?) But, the accumulated baggage, Is making me age, As I dance across life's stage. I've got things, All the things, Seem to come attached with strings, Gifts you've given me, Pictures, letters and a memory, I can't see, A way to break free, I can't throw them away, At least not this day. Instruments of my life, Instruments of my music, Yet, they'll make me sick, And, cause me strife, If I can't find a place, For them to go... If I can't erase, What I know.
A Whole Mess Of Music