Crazy Arms
reach out to hold a child who has gone astray. I know this story. I lived it, and barely survived. She has far more talent than I did, and I was good enough that people paid to hear hear me sing. I know the indie band life; I too loved it. I know how it draws you in; I know how much drinking and drugging and thoughtless sex go on.
She is young, and strong and sure of herself, just like I was. She can shake off a hangover, light another cigarette, and have a quick shot to get going. I know this, I once did the same.
It's an exciting road. What she does not know is where it ends. I do. I also know I can't give her directions, or a map, or even a hint. She has to find her path with the same faulty compass I had.
I can only hope to be there when she reaches the end of this journey. I can only hope she makes it safely. I can only hope it is a shorter trip than mine was, and she finds all the soft places to fall.