You are beloved
You were ordained
To conjure sunshine
On days it rained
You are remembered
You are revered
Your locks are greying
Just like your beard
Now your days are numbered
And your hand is slow
The axe that thundered
The frets that glowed
The voice that rumbled
The riffs that flowed
Your time is coming
Pay up what’s owed
You trod the stage
Played for the crowd
Contained your rage
Sang soft, not loud
Now no one listens
No one hears
And through the silence
The faintest cheers
And in the distance
A sweet sustain
Held by the Marshall
The old refrain
Now your days are numbered
And your hand is slow
The axe that thundered
The frets that glowed
The voice that rumbled
The riffs that flowed
Your time is coming
Pay up what’s owed
wbalanstuart
wiseblood.net 
you’ve done it again….another raging masterpiece.
Thanks Greg. You’re very kind. Best wishes to you.
beautiful…want to hear the sound track….xxx
Lis thankyou. Colin and I are thinking about recording it once I’ve got the melody and middle 8 worked out.
As the fable goes, Robert Johnson was not ordained but had a pact with the devil, just like old Doctor Faustus – cold rain on the window, but, are we on the outside looking in, or on the inside looking out ? to experience versus ‘to understand’. Maybe William Blake penned the first Blues lyrics in his ‘ Songs of Experience ‘ ?
….or Huxley’s ‘The Doors of Perception’?…….