Текст песни Barry Manilow - Studio Musician
Barry Manilow - Studio Musician слова песни
I am a studio musician,We`ve never met,But you know me well.I am the English horn,Who plays the poignant counterlineUpon the song you heardWhile making love in some hotel.I am a part of you,I`ve never tried for fame,You`ll never know my name.I am the strings that enter softly,Or three guitarsThat glitter gold.I am the thousand trumpet linesThat were an afterthought,Intended as a wayTo get a dying record sold.I never ride the road,I never play around,I play what they set down.I`m a working musician,Living from week to week,I`m the voice through which empty men try to speak.A studio musician,Blowin` the chance I seek.And when the woodwind cushion rises,I start to dream,On a low brass bed,But I awake to horns,The drummer calls to me,We`re up to letter D.I`m a man of the moment,Pop is my stock and trade,Singles, jingles, and demos,Conveniently made.A studio musician,Whose music will die unplayed.A studio musician,Whose music could have died unplayed.