September 7, 1990
Last night I took a beating on the bass.
I couldn’t even walk through “Straight, No Chaser”.
The worst thing is they don’t tell you to your face,
they say it was great--what do they know anyway?
Last week I was unconquerable, unbeatable;
anything I wanted was in reach, but when I woke this
morning, though I still could do most anything,
I realize now it takes at least a lifetime for each.
Step up! It’s your turn to choose a door,
behind the right one lies the future you’ve always been hoping for.
Blow it, and there’s no consolation more--
just another genius mopping floors.
I can’t begin to tell you
what it does to your sense of pride.
I will be in my bedroom,
though I know it won’t help to hide away,
because this morning is just more of the night before.
Sunday I’ll play my bass again.
If perfection takes years I’ve only had days from the way it’s sounding.
Maybe it’s time to make some changes.
If I want to make my mark I’ll have to be more concentrated.
Let’s say I were to drop the bass. With no practicing
I’d have more time for writing music, which in any case, is more my thing.
Hold on! Now wait a minute, don’t cut that string--
it doesn’t seem like much now, but if I fall then it might be
something to keep me going.
Composition won’t pay my bills;
and there’s no way of knowing.
If it’s all just a war of wills I’ll win,
but tomorrow may be more of the night before.
Maybe this will work itself out someday,
though I’m one in a million, all hoping for the same thing;
I know I’ve got something no one else has to say,
which will keep me hanging on until the day
I finally find someone listening.
that’ll make it all worth my while.
I’ve always believed I could do it,
though I’m only now asking why
When tomorrow may be more (3x) of the night before.
Tomorrow may be more of the night before.
all rights reserved