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.
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.