We Needed Him (for Townes Van Zandt)
The poet cast a long shadow,
as he took the stage.
The wraith, worn from bowing down a thousand times.
Strumming that old Gibson, cracked and blonde,
he sang a few lines.
"Livin's mostly wastin' time, and I waste my share of mine..."
The sea of faces got bigger, records needed to sell like hotcakes,
such wasn't the case for THE troubadour of the Lone Star state.
He just did what he had to do,
coming, going as he pleased; living like a rake.
Gentle, hard-living cowboy,
with words that ring as true today as they did when
under a western harvest's moon,
he was swept up in the wind.
We need him now, just like we needed him then.