Crippled but free, I was blind all the time I was learning to see.

Inspiration, move me brightly, light the song with sense and color, hold away despair

But I would rather be with you, somewhere in San Francisco on a back porch in July, just looking up to Heaven, at this crescent in the sky

Comes a Time when the blind man takes your hand says DON'T YOU SEE?

Let my inspiration flow, in token lines suggesting rhythm, that will not forsake me, till my tale is told and done.

The storyteller makes no choice, soon you will not hear his voice, his job is to shed light, and not to master

...if you get confused, just listen to the music play.