Bob, Greg and Grant

It was a turning away from something I knew.

A big change from the age of music that grew and grew.

Late nights with the image and video.

Long and lonely hunts on independent radio.

I never really knew

your name.

*

One day in the dusty racks of second-hand sound,

I saw the cover and what I never could lose got found.

I just knew your music was mine.

I had discovered something special this time.

I never really knew

your name.

*

Chorus:

Do we feel the same?

(oh, the price you paid)

Do we hear the same?

(oh, the tracks you laid)

Did we need any fame?

What does it all mean?

*

In those fine hair metal and pop daze,

I was true to your own steady gaze.

(Oh, how I once lived with your dissonant trade:

Candy apples gone gray, Warehouses and your Arcade).

I never really knew

your name.

*

It did not make me that popular with the crowd.

I made the mistake of sharing my opinions out loud.

Who wants that sweat and noise in their ears?

Why bother with a band that spits and swears?

I began to really know

your name.

*

(Chorus)

*

Bridge:

We owe you so much,

so much has been taken.

What we hear now

like a deal has been broken.

Could we be the ones to say

it seems to be so far away?

*

I stumbled away from just being a fan.

I put a warped guitar in my hands.

I hit all the wrong chords,

Finding time for no words.

I thought I knew more than

your name.

*

(Chorus)

*

There were moments with friends, basements, amps...

(not the best for all those jams).

Strange to think that we all knew their noise.

Strange to know that we all made that choice.

We never really knew

your name.

*

The circus, although metal, left the town.

You did not stay to stick around

for the grunge and plaid you wore

to appear at every store.

They never really cared to know

your name.

*

And then finally, I saw it: the box and name.

It really was a children’s game.

It made no sense at all.

It was like a friend that had to fall.

What really matters with such

a name?

*

(Bridge)

*

And then, after all of these many long memories,

I sit with the warehouse of songs and stories

that remain in my stacks and my heart.

I apologize for this part.

I really need you to know

their name.

*

Tonight, I sit here with the screen and thoughts;

I look at the papers and subjects I taught.

I prepare to make for another new day.

Bob, Greg and Grant, I wish you could stay.

And now we all need

your name.

*

Outro (repeat to the fade out):

How does it feel to be the one?

How does a celebrated summer run?

How does pink turn to blue?

(It makes some sense after all...that's true).

*

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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