It’s true. As a younger man, I sat in my little apartment in Bloomington, Indiana and I strummed my guitar and aspired to write songs. Before that, I remember writing lyrics in the study I had while living outside of Truxton, New York. I think I even recorded some of the songs – pieces of melodies, of lyrics, of vibes as the kids would say – on cassette tape.
Consider this lyric found on a 5 x 8 card a bit of juvenilia:
I had the carburetor cleaned and checked
With her line out she’s humming like a turbojet
Propped her up in the yard on concrete blocks
for a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks
Took her down to the carwash and checked the plugs and points
I’m going out tonight and rock the joint.