Hendrix

Hendrix

Headphones bleed
 From the chords I believe
 Were struck by the master
 The master of hands...
 Of ''Ladyland'', electric
 A vinyl worth the weight
 Of three bricks of gold
 For its' platinum sold, and-
 I could never trade that thrill
 That marrow bristling chill
 For a sack of dollar bills
 On e-bay's net exchange
 For I may be old and strange
 But am not that far deranged

And, ahhhh...the jagged mid-range tone
 Sweet and smooth like sculpted stone
 Before the days of cellular phones
 When Jimi blew my Fosgate cones-

In acoustical bliss
 With a mind-chasing hiss
 Like a Boa or Cobra
 In peak tone and pitch

And the demon of demons
 With his tie-dye bandana
 Toothpick, his stage manna
 'Sweet Decibel Demon'
 Twang-god for all seasons
 Of titanium tweeter domes
 Disturbed watts and ohms