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
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