Sunday, April 26, 2009

working the wood...

this is a song i wrote late one night (or early one morning, depending on your point of view) after work. it's about being a bartender. it's called "working the wood."

"he stands behind the bar, an undiscovered star,
pours another beer, hands it over, saying "cheers,"
you hand him your money, and he collects his tips,
picks up the bar towel, wipes up the drips,
he takes a sip of water, he's been sober now,
for a couple of months, and he doesn't know how,
a crazy way of life, the drunk girls, the fights,
it all blends in to one long sleepless night,
it's been so many years, the only life he knows,
a decade full of booze, blow and cigarette smoke,
he wants a change, he craves something else,
he's trying to grow out of his old self...
but every now and then the past rears its ugly head,
it's no longer fun, he's amazed he's not dead,
he's been lost and found again, this life hurts so good,
he's clocking in at 5pm, working the wood...

he's capable of so much, potential through the roof,
nobody knows what you can do until you give them proof,
he tried to live the corporate dream, put on a shirt and tie,
but it was such a nightmare, he kissed it good bye,
he gave his notice, plain clothes chosen, went back into service,
a starving artist, with no future, yeah it makes him nervous,
but he has faith in his calling, his art gives him true meaning,
he measures his success, not by money, but by feelings,
and right now he feels full, writing these here words,
but they may not be his best, but they're off his chest, that's worth,
and don't you dare look down on him, and think his life a waste,
the only waste he sees are those from sleep who never wake,
they sit at desks, take urine tests, have corporate cards and meetings,
car allowances, travel budgets, trying to crack that ceiling,
and in that empty world, he'll give you two things that you seek,
some music to zone out to, and of course, he'll pour some drinks...

the question is, this thing he does, he had it all to lose,
his obligation's to his muse, he's got nothing to prove,
so you can judge him, think him dumb, uneducated, worthless,
he's living underwater, struggling to surface,
at 3am, he locks the door, tired, sore and blistered,
another night, another fight for meaningful existence,
he makes his way home in the dark, picks up a pad and pencil,
and writes it all down in the dawn light creeping through the window,
he hears your stories, feels your pain, and shares with you your joys,
he keeps your cup full, celebrates your life, gives you a voice,
and sometimes in those moments, when you're down and at your worst,
he says "this one's on me tonight," and quenches more than thirst,
one thing he knows about his life is that he can't commit,
to anything more than appreciation of each moment,
and ups and downs, the ins and outs, he takes the bad with good,
and he'll be here tomorrow night, still working the wood..."

(C) 2009 ryan somers (don't matter just don't bite it)

ps. the bartender hates you...

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