Six

[wot_i_wrote]

There's six strings on this guitar,
six sides on these dice,
six years since we started this
and it's become a vice.
A vice because we can't stop now,
not even if we tried,
not with a twelve-step program
with a counsellor or guide.

Six lines in the chorus,
six chords in this song,
six times we've been summoned
to these rooms where we belong.
We can't stop and we won't stop
while we've got breath to breathe,
to raise our hands and voices
and affirm, "We still believe."

Six more shots of whisky,
six beats of my heart.
Even when we're far we're
never six degrees apart.
We can't stop and we won't stop -
we pick each other up
in the pit or from the airport
and we're never giving up.

Six flights and six overdrafts,
six AirBnBs,
six new friends around each bend,
"six-seat taxi, please."
We can't stop and we won't stop.
Together we can't fail.
You know we'll crash the website
when the tickets go on sale.

We can't stop and we won't stop
and we'll go anywhere:
perhaps to San Francisco
with flowers in our hair.
To Manchester, or Amsterdam
or else back to square one:
full circle to the Roundhouse
where this story was begun.

No, we can't stop, and we won't stop,
because this is who we are:
this fire in our bellies,
six strings on this guitar.

Written for and performed at the open mic at Lost Evenings VI, House of Blues, Anaheim, California.