01-16-2016, 11:22 AM
Edit 1 (Ella)
I've been lost
in a Humbuckers field,
picking plump fruit
from plectrums, to fill stomp boxes
full of ripe fancy.
My fingers
cut deep on thin strings,
as I work away fretless,
my voice buried
as I ripen lines,
spit dust in time.
Weighed down by
a solid body,
sustained by
the richness
of a pentatonic crop
I tune myself open.
Original
I've been lost
in a Humbuckers field,
picking plump fruit from
plectrums, to fill stomp boxes
full of ripe fancy.
My fingers
cut deep on thin strings,
and I sing
with gravel
as I work away fretless,
always keeping time.
Weighed down by
a solid body,
sustained by
the richness
of a pentatonic crop
buried under rocks.
I've been lost
in a Humbuckers field,
picking plump fruit
from plectrums, to fill stomp boxes
full of ripe fancy.
My fingers
cut deep on thin strings,
as I work away fretless,
my voice buried
as I ripen lines,
spit dust in time.
Weighed down by
a solid body,
sustained by
the richness
of a pentatonic crop
I tune myself open.
Original
I've been lost
in a Humbuckers field,
picking plump fruit from
plectrums, to fill stomp boxes
full of ripe fancy.
My fingers
cut deep on thin strings,
and I sing
with gravel
as I work away fretless,
always keeping time.
Weighed down by
a solid body,
sustained by
the richness
of a pentatonic crop
buried under rocks.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out