It’s A Sad Song, Nashville
It’s a sad song, Nashville –
one more sad song
sung by a head hung low
under a ten-gallon sorrow,
under less-than-Vegas neon lights
on a lonely, honky-tonk Monday night.
It’s a sad song, Nashville –
another sad song
sung by crying mandolins,
sighing steel guitars, and fiddled violins
that now paddle tired cowboys home
down Broadway River, away from Ryman’s glow.
It’s a sad song, Nashville –
one last sad song
to drown your dreams and hopes
in brown Cumberland’s overflow,
stronger than Jack and vile as gin.
You won’t even hum that sad song again.
To Nashville, the city where I was born and went to college.
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