A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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LISTEN TO THE WORDS
Back in the nineteen seventies
Coffeehouses had emcees.
“May I have your attention please?”
They would start out by saying.
They’d look the audience in the eyes
And say: “You’re in for a big surprise!
I know you’re really gonna like these guys!”
And then we would start playing.
Things are not the same today.
We’re on our own in each café.
We just set up and start to play
And hope somebody listens.
We’re at the mercy of a crowd
That’s sometimes rude and sometimes loud,
And if they do not shut their mouths,
They won’t know what they’re missin’.
Hey! Listen to the words!
Hey! Listen to the words!
Some of you are already gone
Before I can sing you my first song.
Some of you have your headphones on,
Lost in your own little dream.
Some of you have a drink of two
And shout at the person next to you.
Some of you talk the whole night through.
It makes me want to scream!
Hey! Listen to the words!
Hey! Listen to the words!
Some people like what they’re told they should like;
They can’t decide on their own.
They like you if you’re famous,
But not if you’re unknown.
Some people think this is not a real job
And we do not need to be paid.
Some people never clap their hands;
They act like they’re afraid.
Why do you think I do what I do?
As long as I am able to,
I will shed God’s grace on you,
Whether or not you know it.
God gave me a voice to sing,
And hands to play these guitar strings,
But more than this, above all things,
He made me a lyric poet.
I stand before you in my prime.
I sing to you in perfect rhyme,
Never knowing how much time
I still have left before me.
Sad to say, but oftentimes
I’m casting pearls in front of swine.
It truly is your loss, not mine,
If you should all ignore me.
Hey! Listen to the words!
Hey! Listen to the words!
Saranac Lake, New York, 1996
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