Postcard #20

May 17th, 2015

On the Vaasa-Umeå ferry
While we were drinking our morning coffee
A troubadour came on and played some old Eric Clapton
Followed by the lonely sound of nobody clapping
And you said, "Why do you think he's doing this?"
And I opened my mouth full of prejudice
And said, "He probably had dreams of making it big."
A bit narrow-minded of me, I have to admit
But I been wondering each night of this tour
What would it be like if nobody listened anymore
Would I still write songs and would I still sing?
Would music still have the same meaning?
I don't think I could sit on a ferry plane
For turned backs and blank faces half-sleeping
So what drives this man to keep going?
And just then, as if he'd been listening
The troubadour sang, and I'm quoting
"Ain't got no bars to tell me what to do
I'm a troubadour, that's what I do
Ain't got no bars to tell me what to do
I'm a music man and that's what I do
Ain't got no bars to tell me what to do
I'm a troubadour, that's what I do
I ain't got no bars to tell me what to do
I'm a music man, that's what I do
I ain't got no bars to tell me what to do
I'm a troubadour...