Like No Other

When I was about sixteen years old,

I walked to a friend’s house nearby.

(This is a story I have never told,

although there is no reason why…)

 

As I drew nearer the hang-out,

a garage on a gravel alleyway,

I suddenly felt like I had some clout,

for my own song on a guitar did play!

 

I was amazed, and honored, too.

So I hurried to the door,

to meet the player, and the crew,

and maybe take the floor.

 

The player was, I do proclaim,

a person like no other.

Dustin was this fellow’s name;

he was my older brother.

 

I didn’t expect to see him there,

and was doubtfully expected by him,

And as your story teller, I swear,

his guitar skills were rather grim.

 

A guitarist, he was not meant to be.

(At least that’s what he believed.)

But he did learn that song from me;

a gift that was not then perceived.

 

He died when I was thirty-one, Man;

he was only thirty-five.

And he always was my greatest fan,

back when he was alive.