Sitting there on the desert sand
cool night air and guitar in hand
picking out a tune
looking for some words to sing
thinking about those last few years
writing songs that no one hears
watching the night pass
wondering what the next day will bring

it's been so hard, as the flower grew
wondering if he'd ever make it through
but something inside him said he has to write
and not to rest till he'd won the fight
though there were times, when he'd lay in bed
crying "Lord won't you give me strength to raise my head
please watch over the seeds I've sown
let them find a place in someone's home"

trying to prophet in your home town
it's like facing winter in just an evening gown
with no one to turn to who will ever understand
people smile as they turned away
"he'll learn" you'd hear them say
"he's nothing special cause there's nothing in his hand"

but now he's so close, he's paid his dues
he's had his share of the reds and the blues
his music judged from leather chairs
criticised before it hit the air
by the masters of a factory
where lives are ruled by fashion industry
but his time will come one day
when seeds are strong they'll always find their way

© NEMO JAMES. All Rights Reserved
Words & Music by Nemo James