I am a studio musician
We've never met
But you know me wellI am the English horn
Who plays the poignant counter line
Upon the song you heard
While making love in some hotelI am a part of you
I've never tried for fame
You'll never know my nameI am the strings that enter softly
Or three guitars
That glitter goldI am the thousand trumpet lines
That were an afterthought
Intended as a way
To get a dying record soldI never ride the road
I never play around
I play what they set downI'm a working musician
Living from week to week
I'm the voice through which empty men try to speakA studio musician
Blowin' the chance I seekAnd when the woodwind cushion rises
I start to dream
On a low brass bedBut I awake to horns
The drummer calls to me
We're up to letter DI'm a man of the moment
Pop is my stock and trade
Singles, jingles, and demos
Conveniently madeA studio musician
Whose music will die unplayed
A studio musician
Whose music could have died unplayed