As a boy he sang in the choir.
Worshiping nothing but his desire.
To play rock and roll,
so when he was twelve he sold his soul.
Hear him as he sings...
Sir could you spare just a moment of your time?
I just wrote this riff. I just wrote this rhyme.
I can make these strings sing and every note ring.
I might not look like much, but it isn't as easy as it may seem.
Sure, I'm just a boy, but I'm a boy with a dream.
As he grew older it was all about Friday night.
Getting high and playing until the mornings first light.
People loved to hear him play.
They always asked him to stay.
He was on his way to fame or so it would seem.
A teenage boy who was working hard for his dream.
So as he grew older fame seemed to slowly slip away.
Soon less and less people demanded to hear him play.
Still he kept playing bars and street corners wherever he could.
He sang and danced wherever it was he sat, wherever it was he stood.
Some fans stood loyal and were forever by his side,
But unfortunately the public sort of pushed him aside.
So you can hear him say still to this very day:
Pass me the bottle! I know I've got the time,
To sit and play this guitar for you and write another rhyme,
I'm half the man I once was. I'm broke, can you spare a dime?
I'll never stop dreaming, because to dream is divine.
Oh, can you spare some change for a broken old man.
His fingers are stiff but he's doing all that he can.
He can make those strings sing and every not ring.
Thats because that old man, he's still got a dream.
© Brett Harper
