That old guitar setting in the corner, waiting to be played,
It holds so many dreams a person just couldn’t say.
Setting in that corner just collecting dust,
If it were metal instead of wood, it would surely rust.
It gets tuned and played maybe once or twice a year,
It needs to be played but no one comes near.
Sometimes I think that it can feel,
I play some songs and the music is real.
Life is like that in a way,
You sit there waiting for your turn to play.
G
