You wake up,
Forget what a comfortable bed is,
You fell asleep in your friend's old van,
The guitar that you hold,
Is your ticket to a palace,
To bad no one wants to hear it,
Music,
You are a dying artist,
I can just see your ribs,
From you tight shirt and low jeans,
When did this become a fashion?
Dyeing your hair each day,
I do not know what is your hair's true color,
Those girls who pass by will never give you a second glance,
Music,
You are a dying artist,
Your beat is mellow,
And your lyrics are true,
The music you make,
Is beautiful,
But right now,
Music with meaning is not 'in',
I listen to blaring guitars and drummers who just see how hard they can hit,
Music,
You are a dying artist,
But I buy your songs when no one is looking.