| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - I see him there most ev'ry day,A lonely man and his guitar.In his eyes, I see the pain,All the faces and the places,All the trouble that he would seen.There was a time,There was a day,They would come from miles around.They all knew his name.But day's gone by are gone,Now only memories remain.Then he starts to play.Suddenly the pain slowly fades away.Tattered, torn and frayed,There is a place within his hea
|
