Life Is Like A Trumpet

The Blues - The Sound Of A Sinner On Revival Day.

With A Guitar I Would Be Able To Express The Things I Felt In Sounds.

Whenever I Heard The Song Of A Bird And The Answering Call Of Its Mate, I Could Visualize The Notes In Scale, All Built Up Within My Consciousness As A Natural Symphony.

The Name Of My Ailment Was Longing, And It Was Not Cured Till I Finally Went To The Department Store And Counted Out The Money In Small Coins Before The Dismayed Clerk. When I Came To The House, I Held Up The Instrument Before The Eyes Of The Astonished Household.

Saving Was Slow And Painful.