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I was inspired to write these lyrics during a trip home from Las Vegas. I spotted an old, abandoned shack on the side of the highway that looked like it had been deserted many years prior. I realized it was deserted now, but it was not worthless. It was 'good enough for a song'.
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CD: The Making of Easy
Label: LOF Records
Credits: Kathi Burg Band |
Story Behind the Song
I was inspired to write these lyrics during a trip home from Las Vegas. I spotted an old, abandoned shack on the side of the highway that looked like it had been deserted many years prior. It was made up of broken, worn wood.
I began to think about all of the people who had walked the floors of this shack long ago and about its history. I realized it was deserted now, but it was not worthless. It was 'good enough for a song', which made it very worthwhile.
When we first put the music and the lyrics together, I did not envision it as having a gospel feel. One day, while listening to the song, it was as if I could literally hear a gospel choir in my head, accompanying the main vocal. I did not know where to get this choir and as we were nearing the end of the recording process, I resigned myself to the fact that we might not get one.
During the recording of the keyboard and B3 tracks, we had the privilege of working with an incredibly talented musician, Rob Whitlock. Rob was able to connect us with the three very talented vocalists that you'll hear, who provided the 'choir' affect in this song.
Towards the end of the song, one of those vocalists, Tina Wilson, sings a solo that still moves me.
I feel like this song evolved into what it was supposed to be.
I hope you enjoy it.
Lyrics
I sit at the edge of the highway
with missing pieces of aged wood
I creak when the wind blows
and I welcome a friendly face
I am a forgotten structure
in this deserted place
Chorus:
Traveler, will you take my picture
otherwise, I'll forever be forgotten
or put me, put me in your poetry book
I know it looks like I'm good for nothin'
but I'm good enough for a song
Tumbleweeds sit at my doorstep
there are no markets or gas stations
to my right or to my left
just the whir of the desert wind
and the hum of the passers by
of all those poets and lyricists
I've never met
(Chorus)
Bridge:
So one day,
I just might find myself in a book of poetry
but I wonder why those people
who once walked my floors
and pushed open my doors
forgot about me...
well, I wonder why those people
once walked my floors, pushed open my doors,
forgot about me.....
well I wonder, wonder, wonder, wonder why...
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