From the recording My Boots Hit The Stage


Black skies
Pink neon lights
I pull my hoodie down
Over my red eyes
Grey buildings
Growing in the distance
Bars on the doors
Seems like pretty shady business.
Dead end broke
Lighting up my last smoke
So this is Music City
Where I end up alone.
3 day stubble
One step ahead of trouble
I never looked back
People bursting my bubble. 
And when the lights come up
I put my boots on the stage
In the scratches and the scuff marks
I stand in the shadows
Flirting  (romancing) with fame
Sweat (whiskey) stains on the floor boards
Where all the big stars played.
My old guitar
I’m a backpack slave
I checked into The Drake
Where CMT stars stay
8 by 10’s
With phony autographs
That kid from Deliverance
Scratching at his pants.
Tourists on tour
Watching steel guitar bands
I hear the laughter out loud
Of the money changing hands.
Warm 50 cent canned beer
Sitting on a stool
Did I finally find the ocean
Or another cesspool?  
It’s depressing at the hotel
Even lonelier on stage
I come a thousand miles
And 40 plus years
Finding those rhymes
Breathing life into a blank page
I don’t sing happy
But I can write a sad song
I can’t call collect
Cause there ain’t nobody home
I left that joke
Indiana stale and old
Where folks are drunk or dead
And some are just both.
My ears crammed full
AM radio past
I hear the music in the mountains
Played by ancient man
But I lost that spark
I fumbled on that note
Somewhere along the road
I lied to my soul.