I was reading a story from Rolling Stone about an old favorite of mine, Kris Kristofferson. While I don’t listen to him often, I’m drawn by his lyrics like a bee to honey. I sat at my computer and let his music help me write my imaginary song.
I ain’t no better than a dirty dime
I’ve got the writer’s itch,
when words flow from my mouth
like grease droppings on a dirty floor.
Thinking about days gone by
as they skip out the door.
Hey little buddy of mine,
you’re ain’t nothing but my little whore.
All my writing, singing, and therapy stuff,
don’t change you a little bit.
I own you, he whispered that night.
You ain’t no better than a dirty dime.
Hey, Kris Kristofferson,
you old buddy of mine.
I’m turning you off,
‘fore the dark fog moves in.
Best you go away,
before I begin…
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