When I was a kid
I would sit for hours
Reading the liner notes
Of every new album
I could get my hands on

I devoured that information
I sat at the feet of songwriters
And storytellers and musicians
And read every word and I listened
Over and over and over again

And I wanted – needed to know
Who wrote it and with whom
Who was on the vocals
Who played each instrument
Who produced and who coproduced

It was the one thing I was hungry for
I had to check out each new release
Every artist-every group-every genre
I lost days, excited for inspiration
And could soar for hours on a song

And I wrote and wrote poems and songs
Journal after journal, page after page
I was brave and loved being brave
And I so wanted to one day be listed
In the liner notes – oh what a thrill

I never wanted to taste or smell like
The center stage of it all
In truth, I hate that I ever said yes
Because standing tall in the center
In many ways means standing alone

No one ever accuses the songwriter
Of being a prima-donna or a liege
No one ever throws stones at the choir
So when the fire came on the frontline
I sang the song like it deserved

And I thought – really thought
That that would win the day
Would be enough to escape the jeers
But confidence, even when faked,
In the eyes of the red – is arrogant

Seeds of jealousy grow even more green
When important people are pleased
So they attacked-a few of them-enough
And the music died in me
I don’t think I’ll ever get it back

I think it would do their souls good
To say thanks-for music-during that
Even though all you really wanted
Was to write a few songs
And sing a little harmony

Every now and then I try to remember
How good it felt when it was good
Before every bitter revelation
And I wonder what more could have been
Written and played and sung