Studio Musician

                                  We've never met

But you know me well

I am the English horn

Who plays the poignant counter-nine

Upon the song you heard

While making love in some hotel

I am a part of you

I've never tried for fame

You'll never know my name



I am the strings that enter softly

Or three guitars that glitter gold

I am the thousand trumpet lines

That were an afterthought

Intended eyes,

The way to get a dying record sold

I never ride the road

I never play around

I played what they set down



I'm a working musician

Living from week to week

I'm the voice through each empty men

Tried to speak

A studio musician

Blowin' the chance I see



And when the woodwind coushing rises

I start to dream

With the low brass bed

But I awake the horns

The drummer calls to me

We're up the letter D



I'm a man of the moment

Pop is my stock n' trade

Singles, jingles and demos

Conveniently made

A studio musician

Whose music will die unplayed

A studio musician

Whose music could have died unplayed