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Array
(
[sid] => 19615
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => The Strings Of My Guitar
[time] => 2003-06-27 02:05:00
[hometext] => I wrote this for a special friend who loved his guitar so much. He made magic with that guitar.
[bodytext] => THE STRINGS OF MY GUITAR When there's a stillness in the trees And the crickets are a-hum, And a softness in the water running by, Then a numbness hits my toes And a hyperactive hand Grabs the guitar as I gaze into the sky. And I sing away the hours 'Neath the stars and autumn leaves And a heaviness falls from my chest. There's a pleasure in the way That those strings can talk to me. I know the friend inside the case is my best. I've been through every city, And I've stayed in every town, And lived among the kangaroos and cars. And I haven't seen one yet That comes anywhere as close As the homestead I've found in my guitar. As I travel over country, Over rock and over plain, As I sit and talk to people at the bar. My friends will never leave me, Never hurt me or deceive me, As long as I still have my old guitar. When the clouds are forming over And the river's running dry, And my youth will have left me old and grey. When the numbness in my toes Will have grown throughout my limbs, I'll still have my old guitar to play. Sue [comments] => 5 [counter] => 147 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Sapphire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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