On a cold, damp night in Memphis,
I staggered through its tempest,
in an icy rain from
a gig where I'd performed,
For three drunks and a prostitute,
in a bar that was so destitute,
they paid me with a meal
before I faced the storm.
Cradling my Strato-caster,
beneath my overcoat's six fasteners,
in my Goodwill, fashion statement,
shabby and forlorn...
looking for someplace,
I could shelter and get warm.
You see I'd been evicted,
just like the landlady predicted,
and I left a room
full of things I'd never owned,
writing songs hadn't been that good to me
and my chase towards earning royalties,
sent me into the streets
all drenched without a home.
Chorus-
You won't know what it's like having nothing,
till nothing's all you've ever known,
there are levels of broke
that descend straight into hell,
Many talented song creators,
ride fame's broken escalator...
from its heights back to
despairs depths all alone...
It's a story that I'm qualified to tell...
Soon I spotted a warmly lit up door,
under a neon sign that read,
"Pastime Studios
Welcome all who can carry a tune,"
but when I stepped inside
the hairs on my neck rose,
I should have turned and left
right then I suppose,
but the man behind the counter
turned and said....
"I recognize you,
and I've heard you play,
you know you sing quite nice,
but I have to say
you were born way past your time,
but I'll remedy that,
Just sign your name on the dotted line,
I'll give ya 60 percent and you do just fine,
head on back to the studio,
I'll show you where it's at.
Then we walked down
dim lit halls all hung
with the photos of the stars
he'd made number one,
but I noticed that
they'd all died tragically,
There was Janis Joplin,
plus Elvis the King,
next to Mamma Cass
and Kurt Cobain,
Croce and Buddy Holly
were framed there too,
plus the Big Bopper,
Freddie from Queen,
Jimi Hendrix
sitting in between,
and then he said,
"You know... the next one
hanging here
might be you."
Then as we headed down
some endless stairs,
towards a huge orange glow
in the depths down there,
I turned and ran like
I'd just been set on fire,
and on my way back up
I had to squeeze past Richard Pryor.
On that rainy night in Memphis,
as I staggered back through its tempest,
dodging icy rain from a place
that sought my soul,
in my Goodwill fashion statement,
knowing a coffin might've
been it's replacement.
cause there's deeper ways
to wind up in a hole.
yeah, there's deeper ways
to wind up in a hole.
Chorus-
You won't know
what it's like having nothing,
till nothing's all you've ever known,
there are levels of broke
that descend straight into hell,
Many talented song creators,
ride fame's broken escalator...
from its heights back to
despairs depths all alone...
It's a story that I'm qualified to tell...
Matthew F. Blowers III Productions
Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-–©-2020
Image by Iván Tamás from Pixabay
