lucky notes and lyrics written for no fame
on a New York City oldest grumpy stage
with empty chairs,
in the end
music is what still remains
and there’s no shame,
we walked those roads and climbed the stairs
in pairs –
we were young and had no care
nothing could’ve bothered,
hair was long and rich and brown
riding in my mustang ’65
money scarce but love was strong
was all that mattered…

lucky strikes in nameless pubs
after shots and after dark
poured us whisky in the jar
and we never stopped the gig
until the end –
fell in love with life that I dissent
white porch, roses and a swing
so we ceased to be a thing
but music played,
nothing could’ve stopped the beat
round that summer in the heat
I did write my greatest hit
but it’s a sad song
for it was wrong…

as with poets rise and fall
Rolling Stones be getting old
and Bowie,
David’s in the stars with Cohen
and I’m even more alone
in this kingdom built from gold,
the gold is cold –
like empty chairs surrounded by a whole
it’s raining roses
in the New York City oldest famous hall,
the music never stopped…

round that summer in the heat
I did write my greatest hit
but it’s a sad song
for I was wrong…