Page 432
By Jack Joseph Smith
Alone
There you have it, the word right out
Sitting, looking at paper, while you
can't play a gutar, can't read music
and can't carry a tune; for more than
ten timee seconds that is, or touch a
piano either
But words go through your head and
rhyme, just about all the time
You know what they mean, yet half
the time you got to look them up
That's tough and never rewarding
I guess I am trying to tell Yas
All over the place and everywhere
In the brain
I am writing you songs
Even though I don't know how