When a musician performs
In a pub or a club or a bar
People know what to expect
When they see his guitar.
They know they'll hear him play
And they'll hear him sing
It may be his own work or
A well known and loved thing.
When a performance poet stands
Up there and on his own
That's when he really knows
Just what it's like to be alone.
No guitar to hide behind.
Just the power of his voice
And he keeps telling himself
He's up there by choice.
He stands there and wonders
Just how it will go
It's all original work and words
That nobody's likely to know.
Sometimes as you stand there
Your eyes start to roam
And you can see the effect of
Your words hitting home.
I've never ever been booed
Never ever been ignored
And it's a wonderful feeling
When they start to applaud.
And when you're walking back
Getting comments from the crowd
And they ask you to come again
Then you walk tall and proud.
No reaction, it's a lonely walk back,
Nothing personal, not gone to waste
You can't be loved by every one.
It's just a matter of personal taste.
You try to keep on smiling
Though you're hurting inside
And you just have to learn to live
With and nurse your injured pride.
