Pieces of Eight

Fisherman’s cap stained and tattered from days of a different time Smelling the sights and sounds of a sometimes troubled mind, neon lights swirling and music softly plays it’s Monday night, open mic, and the relic is here to stay Long haired lassies with songs of love and sorrow, talking about their dreams and their vision of tomorrow, that special person that makes them feel that warming deep inside, that makes them cry on those lonely nights when they share their souls of love to the swirling neon lights The folkie with his Martin, tuned to an open chord, dressed in jeans and flannel singing ‘bout the wars, of history past, and of possible things to come, of revolution at the wrong end of a gun pale by comparison to the swirling neon lights The blues man with his snappy hat and guitar stained by man, is doing his best to understand those songs he loves the most; the songs of a troubled time, of whiskey and women and death and prison without the swirling neon lights The relic takes the stage singing songs of before, songs about used to be, and memories and more, songs about the good times and the lines on his face, songs about the perfect love and how it got replaced, songs about foreign lands and ships and stormy seas, just him and his Tele and the teardrop reflecting the swirling neon lights