| I know just where to begin |
| Singing my songs into the wind |
| Letting them just blow away |
| And never hearing them again |
| Friends of mine were in a band |
| Halifax was on the stands |
| I thought I had a chance |
| To be like them |
| So I recorded and I sang |
| About the things that I knew of back then |
| Some kids who heard and saw me in them |
| At a time in their lives |
| When music was everything |
| It was everything |
| Loading up my red Tercell |
| With my guitar and things to sell |
| Getting to the Embassy hotel |
| Just in time to play |
| The year was 1994 |
| They were cross-legged on the floor |
| Listening to my bedroom wall |
| Oh those were the days |
| When I recorded and I sang |
| About the things that I knew of back then |
| Some kids who heard and saw me in them |
| At a time in our lives |
| When music was everything |
| It was everything |
| Then everything changed over the phone |
| California to my home |
| My hero’s voice after the tone |
| Yeah my mind was blown |
| Soon every note became a song |
| And I was rarely alone |
| Most of what I longed for was gone |
| So I shut things out |
| But I’m recording once again |
| While my kid is upstairs in bed |
| And I’ll admit now and then |
| That some nights when I’m strumming |
| Or maybe just drumming |
| The music is still everything |
| Well almost everything |