They rush past me. Avoid my eyes. Feel less obligated to toss in some coin if they pretend I'm not here. I'm here all right. Same corner everyday. Everyday they rush past just the same...there's a few that stop regularily, toss in a coupla bucks now and then. Coffee money. Not the sorta stuff you can live on. That's not the point. Nah, I've got another dead end job for that. Dish pigging at this diner down on Courtney place. The money ain't great, but it pays the rent.Guess it's more about living. Just being. Sometimes its just easier to pretend they can't hear you at all. Like you're just singing to an empty street or something. You sorta let your soul escape through the guitar strings and just float over the street. Not like I'm a poet or anything. I just play Dylan covers.
Hey, I just do what I do man.
It's sun on my face, the birds flying above me. One day, I'll be there...looking down on the world as it floats by. One day. Right now i gotta tune my E string
