Coming Home
I’m Coming Home: Was written after a cold winters night of performance frustration. Ever get that feeling you’re in the wrong place? Like a country/western band booked for punk rock festival. I performed for the 4 walls, the bartender and 3-5 uninterested patrons. The thermostat was stuck at 45 degrees. My fingers were numb and I couldn’t feel the fret board… I must have dropped my guitar pick every 3rd song due to frostbite. There was actually a slight hazy white frost forming on my microphone from my breath. I was missing my house, my woman, a warm environment and a nice comfy bed. Needless to say… it was a long… cold… lonely… night. Life on the road is always tough. Couldn’t wait to go home.
