Ode To a Rock Song
He thought he was a poet
but turned out to be a lyricist
He didn't even know it
Until his words were on the hit list
He wrote sonnets a-plenty
Rhyme and meter sublime
They made songs of almost twenty
Without paying him a dime!
He woke up to it all too late
He dozed too long, too ignorant
But such is the blind fool’s fate
If of worldly ways indifferent
“how I missed my ultimate calling!”
he wailed and cried and sobbed
as he heard his words on beats a-falling
Of honor and credit robbed
The producers made a killing
The poet died in debt
But the words stayed alive and thrilling
On vinyl’s preciously kept
In the end the poet was rewarded
By life’s eternal song
And posthumously awarded
Credit that tried to right the wrong
But far above the earthly sky
Looking down upon the thieves
No tears were there to cry
As he sat under Abraham’s eaves
Seeing the producers one by one
Shedding their fleshy pants and top
To be wrapped in burning flames and sun
Wailing and crying for a single drop
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