I grew up in a town full of dreamers and preachers
where ambition met dissention if it did not wear church clothes
where alcohol broke the fall of all the sorry rebel souls
where drunk hearts came apart
Tommy played the sax, he wanted to make it big
he played the bars and his sister sang along from time to time
and they were troubled, he more so than his sister was
oh baby

how we come to this world
with oh so much to prove
and not much time to do it
and I think I’m due a talking to
this poem reads like a tragedy
this hero needs some hope indeed

now I live in a city of writers and singers
six feet down in an industry town
my dreams are up for sale
but I’m right here in it, I’ll try and finish
what I’ve begun
to get there
to get where?

how we come to this world
with oh so much to prove
and not much time to do it
and I think I’m due a talking to
this poem reads like a tragedy
this hero needs some hope indeed

and it isn’t enough
to be good
no, the pressure is to be absolute
but some of us can’t subscribe
to the notion that we all must be the same
must be the same
we’re not the same
no

Tommy lost his nerve, his drive, and his sanity
his dreams weren’t enough to keep him at peace throughout his waking hours
and he looked for a savior

he looked for something to bail him out
but in the end
we lost him

how he came to this world
with oh so much to prove
and not enough time to do it
and he could have used a talking to
his life reads like a tragedy
this hero needs some hope indeed
how do you feed a life in need?
we all need some hope indeed

-

For Tommy Crawley