Life as a Guitar

My daddy was a maple tree, my mother was a spruce you see Then one day they cut them down, Brought them to the old saw mill When I was just twinkle in their leafy green eyes Some guy sliced momma down the middle, Just the best parts for me you see The rest will go to a low end fiddle They turned daddy into mostly saw dust With a big mean metal machine named "Rust" They sliced him real thin So my back and sides did begin They pressed me and pulled me It really was kind of uncomfortable I protested "This isn't fair! stop it!" I felt kind of naked, my top wasn't there! And they painted me a dark shade of black Left the mark of my momma and my daddy So they could be real proud When I sang so sweetly, so very loud And they strung me up, with cold steel lengths I really did look as pretty as could be They put me in the hands of a rock star He made me feel like a grown up He caressed my slick body, knew my every curve Everybody else wanted to get a look at my frets But I was just his you see I made the rock star, and he made me And this you see, is the story Of my life as a guitar.This was kind of a strange poem, I know. I was just looking at my acoustic guitar and thinking of what it would be like it if could talk. ...I know, I know, I'm totally insane! Written March 15th, 2002 © on Mar 15 2002 02:09 PM PST, Sharon    humor • weird • other • thoughts