(A Loose, Ramblin’ Tune) I’m twistin’ the knob on this beat-up radio, static hummin’ low, like a storm’s ‘bout to blow. No good songs left, just fuzz in the air, chasin’ somethin’ real, but it ain’t nowhere. Flip past a preacher yellin’ ‘bout sin, some pop song loopin’ where the heart’s never been. Country’s too weepy, talk show’s all noise, ads for cheap tires stealin’ all my joys. (Oh, I’m surfin’ the dial, ridin’ the waves, huntin’ for a spark in this airwave maze. Nothin’ grabs me, nothin’ feels true, just static and echoes I’m stumblin’ through.) Turn it again, catch a riff, kinda rough, but it fades to a jingle ‘bout laundry and stuff. Jazz station’s wailin’, but it’s all out of whack, like a saxophone’s fightin’ and it ain’t fightin’ back. I’m driftin’ through signals, the night’s gettin’ deep, radio’s teasin’, but it’s puttin’ me to sleep. Want a melody to rattle my soul, somethin’ to shake off this empty road’s toll. (Yeah, I’m surfin’ the dial, chasin’ a glow, lookin’ for a sound where the wild things flow. Nothin’ but static, no song’s comin’ through, just me and this dial with nothin’ to do.) Then—wait—a hum, a groove, real faint, like a ghost of a song, some long-lost saint. It’s raw, it’s alive, cuts through the haze, but it crackles and dies in the airwave’s maze. So I keep on spinnin’, knob’s my only friend, huntin’ for a tune ‘fore the night’s gonna end. Through the buzz and the hum, I’ll ramble, I’ll roam, surfin’ this dial till a song feels like home.
