Last night I cleaned the blood off my guitar
From Friday's gig. I'd not dared use my pick
In case I dropped it way down on the floor
From my high stool, making me look a prick
I'd strummed for hours at home, but at the gig
My fingers bled by the third song, maybe
Because the guitar fell down flat, I flicked
The strings too hard, I don't know. It shocked me
After I finished singing, hands gory
And that's when fingers started to feel sore:
Only when I saw blood; that cartoon trick
When the character flew till he saw he
Had gone off a cliff, and then he fell far
Down into the sea, legs, arms, flailing quick
Mon 16 Mar 2009
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