My dearest Sam has taken his last blow. A friend through many trials, he always sounded good and was a willing tool in my ambitions to express myself. I wrote him a lament, and will probably use him to play it. He sounds bad, his action is just plain ugly, and I can't afford to fix him.
When we're in heaven him and I are going to play. And he's going to sound great, and my voice will never crack, and all his scratches and cracks will be fixed and my fingers will never get sore and his strings will never break and we're going to praise our King and dance on the streets that are golden together.
Guitars are my my favourite. They are reliable, predictable, and primitive enough for me. I would explain what I mean by that, but bed is calling, and so is finishing the writing of Sam's lament. Good night. Enjoy your music. Bond with your instrument while it sounds good, because the day may come when it doesn't.
2 comments:
I'm so sorry about your guitar. I hope you can find money to get a new one. I would cry if I had no instruments to play.
I always enjoyed the way sam sounded in your hands. You always played him with an intense passion that was quite contagious.
passion always sounds good.
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