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every day after the disgruntled soloist storms off
a very good group of musicians who enjoy playing together
and don't give a hoot how much they are making… just doin it doin

it.
and they play a set until they are satisfied

and every day i watch as 'three string greg', has to beg them to let

him fit in
between their sets. he lives in a house of umbrellas nearby. they

always wait till he begs. maybe because he is a beggar. but they

always give in and he sets up with a car battery and his own amplifier

and plays his own songs on his three stringed guitar which he uses as

a drum simultaneously. and guess what… he's a magnificent true

hearted orpheus under his broken exterior.

break a leg

break a leg
i said to greg
as he lay down his guitar
on his pajamaed leg

three stringed ragas
and ragas with blues
a musical genius with
nothing to lose.

strummin' and pickin'
in a lazy way
he sang about a lazy day
"it's just a lazy day"
no other way to play

they broke his hand
and they took out his hip
but they couldn't break his heart
on his lovely lonely trip

he still faces the wind
and he plays his part.
"always face the wind.", he sang
"it's a good excuse for tears."

the homeless clapped their hands
the gentlefolk clasped their beers
looked at each other with winks and leers
iguanas in the sun…

"iguanas in the sun" he sang, "iguanas in the sun"
you have a right to curse, my friend,
when your soul is on the run