From the Street to the Road

[couchgrouch]

From the Street to the RoadSam busked in bars and coffeehousescurbs were cushions on homeless coucheswhen he needed somewhere to crashhe demoed songs for struggling writersrarely returned after one-nightershis old guitar had no strings attachedhis songs were simple...not cute or cleversomeone heard him at an open micthough he'd been playing foreverSam climbed overnightfrom the street to the roadmoving from town to townlife is a heavy loadwhen you're nowhere boundthere's a commercial oathand the artist's codeit's hard to walk them bothfrom the street to the roadfour years back he was singing demoesnow his entourage needed limosto get to a Dallas stagevideos turned him into eye-candyparty girls threw bras and pantiesev'ry big arena was a tiny cagethough he thought glitz and glamourwas the price you pay to pay the rentsometimes he'd lose his country mannersand curse the day he wentfrom the street to the roadmoving from town to townlife is a heavy loadwhen you're nowhere boundthere's a commercial oathand the artist's codeit's hard to walk them bothfrom the street to the roadSam knew his driver was a Texanso he gave him some Andrew Jacksonsto take him somewhere after the showthey went to a bar outside Dallaswhere hearts are bruised and livers are callousedlike where Sam played years agohe growled blue and gritty lyricswore his hat low like a maskas he reached those lonesome spiritsSam knew he'd walked a crooked pathfrom the street to the roadfrom the street to the road(c)2005 Robert George