For a Song

I was scribbled on a diner napkin
out on Highway 61,
put to a tune in a flop house room
to the rhythm of a drunkard's strum.
I was written for a wedding, written for a war,
I spent 20 years waiting in a dusty drawer
til the day that I'd be sung. I'd be sung.

I'm a song ...boy, when I'm done right,
my words they shimmer like the Northern Lights.
And my melody soars like an eagle's flight,
and the lost souls sing along.
That ain't nothin ...for a song.

I've been penned in a New York Penthouse
and by a drifter on a river bank.
I've been kicked around this lonesome world
from Mozart down to Hank.
I'm a tearful tale of a hopeless love,
I'm a cheerful ditty that the housewives hum,
just to help 'em get along. They get along.

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I've been screamed and yodeled, rapped and banned,
died in a valley with a minstrel band.
I'm a lullaby to a sleeping child.
I'm a call to arms from a rebel's hand.
I'm a dark confession in a life of sin.
I'm a hymn to My Father. I'm a prayer on the wind.

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