Those days without sleep, the studio slog,
That Sisyphean loading out of abused
Equipment, luggage stolen, in the bag
To board a mid-morning London flight.
But what brave heroics, you and I—a Soho
Debut, our Radio One almost-hit,
A Marshall stack up loud to steal the show.
My blood and sweat are soaked into the wood
Around your pickup heart, your wiry veins.
A coat of paint that once was white is yellowed
From cigarette and reefer smoke and stains
Of god knows what. Let's toast the gypsy life,
The near and far misses, the trouble and strife.