Acoustic strapped across my back,
   I've wandered far
      with this guitar.

Just broke two strings from strumming hard.
   Still, fingers glide
      past broken chords

those old notes muscles memorized
   by callouses
      and bloodshot eyes.

Then, silence was my briefest rest
   between the encores
      and requests.

"Another ballad, slow and sad,"
   they'd want from me.
      That made me glad.

Wherever people need a song
   now there's the place
      I most belong.
 
Commiserate and serenade
   before the stage lights
      fade to black.

I always play through to the end.
   That's all that you can do,
      my friend.