Inspired

As a kid,
lost in the crowd.
Lost in chaos,
lost in sound.
There is one thing I can tell you that I found.
In the beat of the drums,
in the tapping toes to the hums.
It’s not a singer’s voice we’re hearing.
It’s not a singer’s voice that is steering.
What’s driving the noise
of all the girls and the boys
is the sound of their choice.

It’s not about the money
and to heck with the fame!
Get the dollar bills,
greens make for a good flame.
It’s about the lights.
It’s about the city.
It’s about the people.
Who cares for the pretty?
It’s about the vibrations in the ground.
It’s a riot in the form of sound.

I look down again
and there’s a mic in my hand.
Years went in a minute
but I understand.
This is what I’m born into.
This is the role I play.
I’m now the singer,
up here for your display.
You may look and notice
And it may be too late to realize.
I can’t move. It’s a side effect
of being hypnotized.
It’s the drums and guitar
that got me this far.
But they say it’s you,
Yes, you, and I know it’s bizarre.

It’s not about the money
and to heck with the fame!
Get the dollar bills,
greens make for a good flame.
It’s about the lights.
It’s about the city.
It’s about the people.
Who cares for the pretty?
It’s about the vibrations in the ground.
It’s a riot in the form of sound.

When I sing, our souls
They resonate.
It’s a feeling, not a science,
Don’t complicate.
This music is a contagion.
an epidemic through the nation.
You’re stuck in this fixation
that there is some medication.
But truth to that infatuation is
You already overdosed!

Come and join the lights,
Become the streets of the city.
We’re all people,
And we’re all so pretty.
We don’t want your silly little pity.
We just want rebellion.
We just don’t want to drown.
We don’t want to be buried,
where we stand, on our ground.
And if we can, can we get another round?
We don’t want to hurt anyone.
We just want a sound.