Studio Musician - Live From 02 Arena London, England / 2011 - Barry Manilow

I am a studio musician,

We've never met,

But you know me well.

I am the English horn,

Who plays the poignant counterline

Upon the song you heard

While making love in some hotel.

I am a part of you,

I've never tried for fame,

You'll never know my name.

I am the strings that enter softly,

Or three guitars

That glitter gold.

I am the thousand trumpet lines

That were an afterthought,

Intended as a way

To get a dying record sold.

I never ride the road,

I never play around,

I play what they set down.

I'm a working musician,

Living from week to week,

I'm the voice through which empty men try to speak.

A studio musician,

Blowin' the chance I seek.

And when the woodwind cushion rises,

I start to dream,

On a low brass bed,

But I awake to horns,

The drummer calls to me,

We're up to letter D.

I'm a man of the moment,

Pop is my stock and trade,

Singles, jingles, and demos,

Conveniently made.

A studio musician,

Whose music will die unplayed.

A studio musician,

Whose music could have died unplayed.