Night Ranger

The melodies are calling him

The songs of yesterday

Where are the guitar warriors?

Are they truly gone to stay?

A young boy dreams of greatness

Head rests on folded hands

Headphones atop his waterbed

Not knowing life’s demands

The year is nineteen eighty-eight

High school his only fear

Knows not the joy of women

And he’s never tasted beer

The lawn, his only nemesis

Two buttons on his game

From point to point on skateboard

With no body aches or pains

He’s never getting married

And he’s never having kids

No plans accepting failure

Taking only highest bids

The world will be his oyster

Having steak for every meal

The cops won’t catch his Mustang

And he’ll make his bullies kneel

The doubters turn believers

And the haters show him love

The masses all will shout his name

Hands high to him above

Fifteen and an immortal

Because mirrors never lie

He launches fists into the air

Full speed toward the sky

Then snaps of sudden waking

How the decades came and went

He never got his Mustang

And his money’s all been spent

He never learned to play guitar

And never learned to fly

He’s scared to touch the skateboard

Because no one wants to die

He never took his band on tour

No riches trading stocks

Life was an angry river

And he hit most of the rocks

He reaches for his headphones

With closed eyes, his smile burns

The guitar rings, the angel sings

Fifteen, his soul returns…