Story of our live's.
uh..uh..uh....
Written so dry and from the heart of my eye's
Im still watered.
As these night are young and these days are shorter.
I approach life like music from a blind man.
Never reflecting what I hear but what I feel.
This instrument take me thier with some classic whisky.
Burn with my emotion I do.
Make a sweet sound from scratch to patch a wound
that has grew.
I feel like robert johnson thru the cross road in a
depress mood.
Old as my hormonica born with the sax take me back
to 1952.
The first time my heart was broken, then I built this room.
For when men seem to always lose.
And today it stands.
As the musical basement of the blues
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem