redfishsc
Member
"Turn the Pen"
In a hot and dusty workshop, out in your backyard,
You can listen to the turner humming out a Seger song
You can think about the Baron, or the Gent you made the night before.
But your mind will soon be wandering, the way it always does,
when your making sixteen Euros and you've got a CA buzz.
And you don't feel much like sanding, you just wish the pens were done.
Say here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
There I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
Well you walk into this craft show, worn out from the ride,
you feel the eyes on your pens and it's pumpin' up your pride,
You pretend it doesn't excite you, but you just about explode.
Most times they can't afford them, other times they can,
always the same old question, "Hey you made this?" ---"Well yes ma'am!"
And you're glad you sold big numbers as you're taking down your stand.
Here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
There I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
O, out under the shoplights, you're a million miles away,
Every ounce of creativity, you try to give away,
And the shavings coat your body, like the lacquer that you spray.
Later in the evening, as your cleaning up the shed,
the echoes from your wife complaining ringing in your head,
You sweep the day's last pile of dust, heeding what she said......what she said......
Say here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
Here I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
Here I go......Here I go......
This, for whatever reason, started coming to me today at work-- obviously a boring day at work--- but when I got home, spent some time on it, and here ya go!
In a hot and dusty workshop, out in your backyard,
You can listen to the turner humming out a Seger song
You can think about the Baron, or the Gent you made the night before.
But your mind will soon be wandering, the way it always does,
when your making sixteen Euros and you've got a CA buzz.
And you don't feel much like sanding, you just wish the pens were done.
Say here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
There I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
Well you walk into this craft show, worn out from the ride,
you feel the eyes on your pens and it's pumpin' up your pride,
You pretend it doesn't excite you, but you just about explode.
Most times they can't afford them, other times they can,
always the same old question, "Hey you made this?" ---"Well yes ma'am!"
And you're glad you sold big numbers as you're taking down your stand.
Here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
There I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
O, out under the shoplights, you're a million miles away,
Every ounce of creativity, you try to give away,
And the shavings coat your body, like the lacquer that you spray.
Later in the evening, as your cleaning up the shed,
the echoes from your wife complaining ringing in your head,
You sweep the day's last pile of dust, heeding what she said......what she said......
Say here I am, in the shop again.
Here I am, on that lathe.
Here I go, drilling blanks again.
Here I go, turn the pen.
Here I go......Here I go......
This, for whatever reason, started coming to me today at work-- obviously a boring day at work--- but when I got home, spent some time on it, and here ya go!
