| I know just where to begin
|
| Singing my songs into the wind
|
| Letting them just blow away
|
| And never hearing them again
|
| Friends of mine were in a band
|
| Halifax was on the stands
|
| I thought I had a chance
|
| To be like them
|
| So I recorded and I sang
|
| About the things that I knew of back then
|
| Some kids who heard and saw me in them
|
| At a time in their lives
|
| When music was everything
|
| It was everything
|
| Loading up my red Tercell
|
| With my guitar and things to sell
|
| Getting to the Embassy hotel
|
| Just in time to play
|
| The year was 1994
|
| They were cross-legged on the floor
|
| Listening to my bedroom wall
|
| Oh those were the days
|
| When I recorded and I sang
|
| About the things that I knew of back then
|
| Some kids who heard and saw me in them
|
| At a time in our lives
|
| When music was everything
|
| It was everything
|
| Then everything changed over the phone
|
| California to my home
|
| My hero’s voice after the tone
|
| Yeah my mind was blown
|
| Soon every note became a song
|
| And I was rarely alone
|
| Most of what I longed for was gone
|
| So I shut things out
|
| But I’m recording once again
|
| While my kid is upstairs in bed
|
| And I’ll admit now and then
|
| That some nights when I’m strumming
|
| Or maybe just drumming
|
| The music is still everything
|
| Well almost everything |