Here we all are
Born into a struggle
To come so far
But end up returning to dust
Oxfam panache and tips his hat
Laces undone
He has no truck with idle chat
Work to be done
The songs he learned from scratched LPs
Stops in mid-flow to sip his tea
The chords he plays with less than grace
Songs we all know
Each passing year etched on his face
Sun, rain, and snow
The words he sings are not his own
They speak of things he'll never know