I play guitar unpolished
red rust of my finger tips, bleeding
no school for this, still I wish
I’d somehow gone or sang with
my mouth unbound and loud
sang like a deep well of bells
that rang each day and I had come to listen.
poetry & things
I play guitar unpolished
red rust of my finger tips, bleeding
no school for this, still I wish
I’d somehow gone or sang with
my mouth unbound and loud
sang like a deep well of bells
that rang each day and I had come to listen.