Hands, touching hands, reaching out, touching me, touching you.
I am, I cried. I am, I said. And I am lost.
You like to think that it's something you created, but secretly you know that you had some kind of help, or somebody gave this to you.
My peers accept me and respect me, and that's enough.
I thought love was more or less a giving thing. Seems the more I gave, the less I got.
My voice is unadorned. I don't try for perfection. I try to be honest and truthful and soulful with the voice I have. If I make mistakes in notes, or there are cracks in notes, I don't fix them. That's the way it is.