I Get My Mail at My Guitar

[couchgrouch]

I Get My Mail at My GuitarI make no payments, receive no billsme n my old Gibson, ride the rolling hillsI'm on the money, if I'm on the moveragged shuffle rhythms, are my shady roofmy head's above the water, my heart's above the wineI make sure my reason, stays above the rhymenothing from the front desk, sent up to my roomthe only message I need, is a lonesome tuneI get my mail at my guitarit reaches me...near or farif anyone behind meever tries to find meI put my old life up for saleand now I get my mailI get my mail at my guitarev'ry drunk and drifter, that I've played forsays my songs are letters, left under their doorI've always been grateful, that what I singfeel like words from home, old friends might bringnight finds my heart reading, blue and haunting notesthat my fingers may play, but lonely fate wrotecos I sleep with women, but wake up alonethere's room in my two arms, but not in my homecos I get my mail at my guitarit reaches me...near or farif anyone behind meever tries to find meI put my old life up for saleand now I get my mailI get my mail at my guitarit's like it comes from the starscos I get my mail at my guitarI've known the shelter, of many a songthey make outcasts welcome, like we belongso when the time rolls in, for me to restI wonder what song will be, my last addresscos I get my mail at my guitarit reaches me...near or farif anyone behind meever tries to find meI put my old life up for saleand now I get my mailI get my mail at my guitarit's like it comes from the starscos I get my mail at my guitar(c)2004 Robert George