You were so special.
I knew some day you would be famous.
You didn’t care if the world saw you, because you didn’t know you were any different.
I used to tell you that I wanted it. I wanted it so bad.
I wanted to believe in something, but I didn’t know God.
You would grab your daddy’s old guitar, and you would strum it, oh so perfect.
And your mouth didn’t move a bit, you stayed silent, and I felt good.
You finger picked a melody, that you wrote after your parent’s divorce.
And you shed a tear, and left it there, you didn’t bother to wipe it off.
I found God in you, as you use your heart as a guitar pick.
The music whispers to, the hard-heart inside of my chest.
And I feel it push and pull, until a burst of sunshine soaks inside, and the amps around you, all begin to fade into a beautiful verse. As the angels above you fall, and I know that you have God. I always knew that you were special.
You were chosen, and in your music I feel holy.
Your voice is like the ocean, and it crashes it’s waves into me.
I always swore you would be famous, and I always knew that you were Godly.
I hope you softly strum the strings of your acoustic to put me to sleep.