After reading about Neil Young and co., I thought I'd post this one...
CASH
Oh how you rattled down your dusty track
audiences hungry for the songed jail time
that only came after they wore you down
replaced your picks with pills and stage collapses.
Your body became Joseph's coat:
A patchwork of pieces as you pushed on,
your jaw unhinged after a 200 a year concert habit
that spanned 3 times your brothers life -
his last day the first day you started to write,
his bible silenced by a woodcutters blade
while you Huck Fynned. There was no Red Riding Hood hidden in his chest
and fish never tasted the same after that day.
But still, the man comes around to turn childish lyrics
into Platinum Records earned to the rhythm of wheels on pavement
day-night-day-night-day-night-day-night
passing like county border signs.
Your mom said you had the calling - piano man, rough guitars,
the gravel of your cotton farm upbringing deep in your throat,
your thorn pricked fingers desperately clinging to the gospel,
you tried to do for her and him and Him;
Your band of mechanics were more used to tuning cars than guitars,
but the lights of arenas still layed tracks to money signs
instead of Baptist revivals so your family got everything they needed
except what they needed when you left them for Gomorrah,
the fear of trumpet sounds forgotten.
Lost in floods of studio lights, crowds clapping time
and blondes and brunettes who would have been virgins
if it was before Elvis instead of after,
left all the songs you wanted to sing abandoned.
Was is your God who sent you a rock-rap legend to save you,
pull you from your cave, sweating and shaking,
the empty bottles piled in yesterday's trash?
The den of vipers and over-bright teeth he sent you into
propelled you back into your Sunny days -
your hands slicing through strings, shoes polished,
the once forbidden fruit helping you to stand
and extinguish the fire ring that once contained you.
The stories captured in grainy recordings, undiscovered sessions,
family produced celluloid, phoenix fired you back
into the memories of another generation,
imprinted photographs - the sheen of black,
white jackets, thin ties, rock-a-billy hair,
captured moments that made your life
ring true again, a man who could take impossible lyrics
and make them his own.
|