He picked his string of six 

He had a variety of plastic picks 

He'd play his song

When he'd play, he'd never play a note wrong

He'd play his songs of blues 

His music lighting up his inner rues 

He'd play that rock

How good he played, was quite a shock

Some would say he played it that first day

With a girl on his mind

His fingers, they devotedly played

They say love is blind 

His love was

He tried to play 

But the strings tied around his mind like a too-tight necklace 

He never did get to play her a song

It seemed like it lasted too long

By the time his music sang

The timer had already rang

Maybe his muse 

Wasnt a noose 

Maybe her leaving

Was his new beginning 

She left him

On her own whim

Now he had his music in her place

He could set this love, at his own pace.