I tried to find a Townes Van Zandt song I could make my own / Play it like I meant it with an audience attentive to its every word
I would sing each phrase so carefully, like setting pearls in filigree To telegraph my deference to his cowboy poet cadence with perfect attitude
I find I just can’t do it, it doesn’t come out fluid; It chokes and brakes on every take; brands me hypocrite and fake And a traitor to the Muse
Break my heart but tell me true; help me do as lovers do
Come tomorrow, will I still be here?
Wasting breath; I’m wasting time, singing someone else’s rhymes
Come tomorrow, will I still be here?
The wires on this old guitar are rusted and corroded Over wood that’s become brittle, I’m so damn non-committal in matters of the heart
Once guarded by a simple fence now ramparts rise in its defense
I sing somebody else’s words; like some damn fool Mynah bird
the squawking sounds so strange
I need to say things my own way, I think that’s what Townes would say
With his telltale rustic grace; to prod me back into my place Like a dogie off the range
