Are you With Me? – I
Written by Chris Scott Fieselman
Anyone can see that I am definitely,
A long, long ways from country.
A Long Island, New York Songwriter,
In Nashville, Tennessee.
Taking the time to make it rhyme,
For a Fourteen Year Long,
Songwriting Career,
That hasn’t made me a dime.
Oh well…
No problem…
That’s fine…
I don’t mind…
Everything that’s meant to be,
Eventually will come in time.
I pray what I say,
May be something they need.
They appreciate enough,
To take the time to read.
An up and coming songwriter,
Minus the Music,
Struggling to succeed.
Trying to be happy,
And be satisfied,
Living the life I lead.
I can write the words,
That need to be heard,
Written only to be destroyed.
A brand new issue,
Published every two weeks.
There are some things,
You cannot avoid.
Thank God that I’m not,
Unemployed.
The scribble I’ve written,
Is part of the commitment,
Of the things that I,
Willingly,
Choose to do,
To be allowed and be able,
And more than fully capable.
To somehow be endowed,
Right here and right now,
With the power,
And the tools,
To get through to you.
To be there to care,
And again get to share,
My music from my,
Point of View.
Are you with me?
It ain’t easy being me…
Are you with me?
Are you With Me? – II
Written by Chris Scott Fieselman
I can only do so much,
As a songwriting man,
Who can’t even play,
An instrument.
Such as it is, for a lyricist,
Who’s not an accomplished musician.
Words never heard, are quickly forgotten,
But songs are a lot more permanent,
And mean something to the people,
I consider my friends.
That’s why I keep doing,
The things I keep doing,
Over and Over, Again and Again.
There’s nary a chance,
Or possibility,
Of me being up on stage,
At The Grand Ole Opry.
I pass by it twice a day,
Working at Fed Ex,
Cruising up and down,
Briley Parkway.
You’ll never catch me hanging,
At a Honky-Tonk-Bar,
Kicking out country,
And jamming guitar.
But I figured out one thing,
Songwriting’s an art.
A beautiful something,
That comes from the heart.
I ain’t afraid to say what I’ve been given to say…
I’ve prayed enough about it,
To come out the right way.
As close as I may get to being up on stage.
Though I know it’s only for,
A very short fourteen days.
A twice a month, homeless, street newspaper,
And a prestigious piece of a page.
A Hassle or a Castle?
A Commitment or a Cage?
I can’t see myself again,
Out there selling the paper.
Waiting for something,
Coming sooner or later?
So, more often than not, I just give it away,
To anyone willing to read what I say.
Why have I decided to do such a thing?
The only folk who truly know who I am,
Are the people who know, what I’ve written.
Who make my life worth living,
And are the reason I keep giving.
Are you with me?
It ain’t easy being me…
Are you with me?