Every time I hear Thunder Road,
I'll see a needle on vinyl, spinning slowly
Playing records in any kind of weather,
the rain could lash the windows and shake the trees
the sun could be poring in, making lines on the rug,
but the brick walls and the speakers stood
the same no matter what
I'll see you, my musical journeyman, talisman,
taking out the album, laying it on
Away we go, with so much to learn.
We met each other, met ourselves,
came to know us through music.
Those first notes of a piano,
the sharp sound of harmonica
'These two legs can take us anywhere'
Hands to flip through the record collection,
find an old gem and dust it off.
Hands to hold mine as we walked down the street,
Thunder Road now stuck in my head.
I'd hum it softly and it would play on.
Oh, Thunder Road.
Bring in the saxophone
let it play until it fades
There are many things that I have learned,
and one is that the gift of music is eternal,
not bound by time or space, a person or a place
(Remember when you taught me the lyrics to Little Red Corvette?)
Thunder Road is still Thunder Road,
even it isn't played in an exposed brick living room.
It is a gift, you gave me that gift.
And that gift keeps giving to me.