You know I love my music, it's really all I got. I never really cared that much if I was cold or hot. Now I got a job to do, I don't want to begin. . I've gotta write a sad song for my friend.
Out of bed at eight am. Out my head by half past ten. Out with mates and dates and friends. That's what I do at weekends. I can't talk and I can't walk.
Ships go out I see them every day. Ships go out I watch them sail away. And on the decks I see my smiling friends. Ships go out but they never do come in.
Now that I know what I know why did the learning come so slow. There are deeds that I have done there in the songs I've sung. And no building stands with my name on the side.
If you ever worry, will I be true. Don't you worry, I'll be true. And I'll be true, sky blue true. I'll be true, sky blue true. . As blue as the skies, as blue as your eyes.
I hate to write this song I never wanted to. But after all, Curt writin' songs is what I do. Right now the paper's staring at me, cold and blank. Defying me to even try express my thanks.
Do you like true stories? I do. That's why I'm singing this song. A song about one legged chicken. Who lives in the straw on the floor in my barn. . I remember the day she was hatched out.
He sits with the guitar on his knee. Thinking of love that he's had. If it makes a sound, he writes it down. He's a songwriter. . He's trying to paint.