At the Cafe Acoustic an
Open Mike player said,
"I cut my finger today
And it hurts, But I think
The endorphins are
Kicking in now, and
I will play through the pain
For you." And he played
Well--beautifully, with arpeggios
And open chords that rang
Like waterfalls, but his
Songs sucked; he sang
Maudlin lines about
Children and a dead friend
None of us knew.
But anyway I did not care
About his pain,
Or pity him because
I know about a bass player
Who worked so hard,
Slapped and pulled
So passionately night
After night that he
Had to put superglue in the holes
The strings had torn into
His flesh. He said
Every night he'd have A Big roadie
Hold his arm still while
He put superglue into cuts so deep you
Could see bone in there, and he'd
Scream My hand's on fire, but then keep
Playing and I used to
Think about that man, pouring
Superglue into bone-deep bleeding holes
In his hands, and crying from the
Pain as he played, and I would think:
"Man, that is Love."
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