I am a studio musician
|
We've never met
|
But you know me well
|
I am the English horn
|
Who plays the poignant counter-nine
|
Upon the song you heard
|
While making love in some hotel
|
I am a part of you
|
I've never tried for fame
|
You'll never know my name
|
|
I am the strings that enter softly
|
Or three guitars that glitter gold
|
I am the thousand trumpet lines
|
That were an afterthought
|
Intended eyes,
|
the way to get a dying record sold
|
I never ride the road
|
I never play around
|
I played what they set down
|
|
I'm a working musician
|
living from week to week
|
I'm the voice through each empty men
|
tried to speak
|
A studio musician
|
Blowin' the chance I see
|
|
And when the woodwind coushin rises
|
I start to dream
|
With the low brass bed
|
But I awake the horns
|
The drummer calls to me
|
We're up the letter D
|
|
I'm a man of the moment
|
pop is my stock n' trade
|
Singles, jingles and demos
|
conventently made
|
A studio musician
|
Whose music will die unplayed
|
A studio musician
|
Whose music could have died unplayed
|
|
-----------------
|
Studio Musician
|
| Barry Manilow |
