A poem for a blues man we lost too early.

Floor It

Don't nobody play like Stevie Ray play.
Give that man six strings, step back, and watch 'em sing.
The sky is crying and his fingers are flying and his amplifier is screaming
and you know that this sound is the TRUTH,
that in every note and bend and trill is this man's soul laid bare
and his whammy bar is upside down but I don't care
because he knows how to use it
and that's all that matters, is the music.
Use heavy strings, tune low, and floor it, Stevie Ray used to say,
words we can all live by
even if you don't have a guitar to make cry
even if you don't like the blues
even if you've never heard music.
We've only got one life, so why follow the speed limit?
We've only got one life, and it's our job to live in it.
We've only got one tiny moment of time, so let's make use of it,
let's play the blues with it,
let's climb on the stage and bend those strings like salvation comes from noise,
let's go go go and we'll burn and we'll glow like the tubes in Stevie Ray's amp,
cause we never know when our tube might blow.
When you went, Stevie Ray, the sky wasn't crying but our eyes sure were,
leaving a Texas Flood of tears behind.
And Clapton wasn't on that helicopter,
but that's not how we know God wasn't with you,
because if he was, he'd have kept that chopper in the sky,
because you, Stevie Ray, you were meant to fly.
But maybe that chopper wasn't meant to land.
Maybe it's part of some grand master plan.
God took Jimi and God took Janis,
and he took Kurt and John and Elvis, too,
so maybe, Stevie, maybe he just wanted to meet you.
He wanted to watch you play.
Cause don't nobody play like Stevie Ray play.

RIP Stevie Ray Vaughan
Can't stop the signal.