We bought a six-pack and headed to the Austin Motel.
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Stars were aligned between heaven and hell.
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The door was open, we sat on the floor.
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You rolled those cigarettes like you'd been to war.
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You told me how you met Andy Warhol when you arrived on the New York scene.
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I may not remember everything just right.
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I was more impressed by the music you had played that night.
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You said that songs were what the world needed.
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That you liked those singers that really mean it!
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You don't even say that you ain't going back to rehab.
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You kept that pretty silent.
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Guess I wasn't meant to know.
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Your mouth was aching, you said it would be alright.
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You traveled alone and your girlfriend cried at night.
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Forsaken talents feel so sorry for themselves.
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I felt sorry for you and all your shame.
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I told you to shut it, to stop complaining.
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I felt like beating you up with your guitar.
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But you had your reasons and now you are gone.
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You are still my hero, if I ever had one.
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You don't even say that you ain't going back to rehab.
|
You kept that pretty silent.
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Guess I wasn't meant to know.
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It takes a great man to go the way you did.
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My picture of you is when you played your "Dirt Floor" music.
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The crowd was electric and you stomped your feet.
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The whole place was shaking, I had never seen anything like it.
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-----------------
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Legendary Afterparty
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| Teitur |
