Phil Ochs
I found him by the stage last night
He was breathing his last breath
A bottle of wine and a cigarette
Was all that he had left.
"I can see you make the music
'Cause you carry a guitar
God help the troubadour
Who tries to be a star."
Chorus:
So play the chords of love, my friend
Play the chords of pain
If you want to keep your song,
Don't, don't, don't, don't play the chords of fame.
I seen my share of hustlers
As they try to take the world
When they find their melody
They're surrounded by the girls
But it all fades so quickly
Like a sunny summer day
Reporters ask you questions
They write down what you say.
Chorus
They'll rob you of your innocence
They will put you up for sale
The more that you will find success
The more that you will fail
I been around, I've had my share
And I really can't complain
But I wonder who I left behind
The other side of fame.
Chorus