Buddy Holly
Buddy Holly, folksinger, with a choirboy face
Looking down from a rooftop
On the Puerto-Rican day parade
Living in New York with his brand new Spanish bride
Feeling like he's got it made
Yeah, man, this is the life
This is what I always wanted, I got this idea for a
song,
"Indian Summer, Spanish Harlem" it's fifteen
minutes long
It's all about my growing up
And everything that's happened since
Some say I've been lucky
I say luck is heaven sent
Yeah, yeah...
I got tired of living on the road
But it gives you a kind of overview
Of life and how to live it, the cruelty, the beauty too
I wanted a place to call home, a tree in the back, a skylight
A coffeeshop down the street that's open all night
Some nights I lie awake listening to the city, the hours crawl
Some nights it's magic, me & Maria
Making love while shadows flicker on the wall
One of these days, I'll paint my masterpiece
An orchestra with rock 'n' roll
And a little bit of Texas soul
Yeah, yeah...
People come to expect a certain thing from you
They wanna put you in a cage
You're supposed to be the sensitive kind
What then when what you feel is rage
Rage against the dying of the light, rage against the machine
God gives us our will then takes it away
Lord have mercy on me
Hey a legend's like a saint
But no God has ever walked this earth
Fame & Fortune, it'll cost you, all you're worth
I wanted to rise above my beginnings
Be one of the chosen ones
Mostly I wanted to live forever, just like everyone
Yeah, yeah...
Inside I've always had a feeling that my time here wouldn't be long
Sounds crazy but I believe
Angels sing through me in my songs
I try to put that love in my music
It's the only thing I have to give
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
All living things want to live
In my garage band dreams the world is a beautiful place
Wanna leave something behind
Not just disappear
without a trace
And what it matters in the long run is not for me to say
But if one man's moment is a little bit lighter
Then my work is not in vain
Thought I saw Buddy Holly last night
Over on Avenue C
Hands in his pockets, collar to the wind
Headed straight into eternity
Buddy Holly, folksinger, with a choirboy face
Looking down from a rooftop
On the Puerto Rican day parade
Yeah, yeah...
