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Billy Was A Picker

Billy was a picker on Saturday nights.
He’d lose himself in the neon lights.
He’d travel places he’d never been.
Even leave his body now and again.
He’d leave behind
The weekday grind
And soar.

You’re oh so cool, the folks’d say
You’re gonna be a star some day
And we’ll all say we knew you when.
And act like we’re your long lost friend.
And when you’re on TV
We’ll all get to be
There too.

And Billy began to believe the praise
He began to plan his life for the days
When every one would know his name
A life of glamour, fortune, and fame
And so he changed
And then arranged
His debut.

He hocked every single possession
And invested in a recording session
He was sure he’d wow them all
And then just wait for the calls
To come rolling in
They’ll call and then
STARDOM!

He booked the local concert hall
Every dime he had, he spent it all
And sure enough, he sold it out
(As if anyone had a doubt)
They knew he would
He was that good.
A picker.

See, Billy was a picker on Saturday nights.
He’d lose himself in the neon lights.
He’d travel places he’d never been.
Even leave his body now and again.
He’d leave behind
The weekday grind
And soar.

So then it came, on that hot June night
Billy and his guitar, were ready for flight
Billy and his guitar, took center stage
Billy and his guitar, were “all the rage”
Said his friends
And so begins
His ride.

But the critics weren’t nearly so kind
“He always plays one beat behind”
“As if he’s not part of the band”
“And frankly don’t think I could stand”
“Another minute”
“Hearts not in it”
“So sad”

And Billy never played another Saturday Night
He would no longer let his soul take flight
The critics were so wrong about one thing
His heart was in it when he’d pick and sing
And his heart
They’d killed it
And his voice
They’d stilled it
Forever.

poem by Gerry Leopard
Added by Poetry Lover
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