As children we play, in the dirt, we get down
Oblivious to all that’s going on all around.
Then we grow up and we seem to lose
That ability to shut off the world’s blues.
We tend to get tangled in every day’s grief
Without any output to get some relief.
Making music it seems, is like being a kid once again
Nothing else matters it’s just you and your friends.
When we go play we can easily forget
All the stressful things that make us all fret.
Yet if we forget to stop and to play
We have lost the power of the child’s way
In the Grooveyard – Sitting in the sandbox
Playing in the playpen – Being with your friends and
Going to the Grooveyard – You don’t have to work hard
But to take apart – You’ve got to have a heart while you’re
In the Grooveyard
You may be sick and you might feel down.
Things in your world are turning you around,
But music has charms to soothe that beast
It usually works – you’ve got to try it at least.
We’ve tried the drinks and pipes to make things abuzz
But nothing has the kick that making music does.
As musicians, we play, and when we get down
There is no stopping us, we’re painting the town.
We’ll not give up the power at any cost
Of that childhood ability that’s so easily lost.
That way of getting through everyday grief
Because we have still had the output to get some relief.
There is no explaining the feeling we get
When it’s all over at the end of a set.
Shell-shocked from the venting of emotions
Onto a canvas of musically inspired devotions.
Humor flows and wise crackers attack
As we wait and discuss when we can next get back.