Blues

The music never stops.
It tugs at the strings.
My memories and sentiments
Are just useless things.

I hear Buddy's and Ritchie’s voices
Crying out in their pain.
The soulless vultures who’d exploit them
Are now all raisin’ Cain.

My old true niche
Still lies with the classic rock.
You can bend me at the same point,
That somber Sleepwalk.