It's bittersweet making music
With just my voice and one guitar.
But I get lost in the warm changing chord line
And I hope that they have music where you are.
There are many turns on the hippie highway.
We make some friends and then we make some miles.
I always thought that i'd see you again,
Just not on the back page of the New York Times.
It's bittersweet making music.
You worked so hard, never to get paid.
But in the end I think you touched a lot of people
Who lived their lives by the records that you made.