Miriam's Drum is Pounding

Miriam’s drum is pounding the pavement

At a rate of 60 beats per minute.


Another musical soul has come with the hope

That here her dreams will take root.

She steps onto the street and off the bus -

A phone number in hand and a pick in her purse

She thinks that this first day

Will inspire her first verse.


Miriam’s drum is pounding the pavement

At a rate of 70 beats per minute.

 musician’s soul is filled with hope –

Some producer liked her style.

She won’t have to sell her wares on the street

Playing for a dollar and some loose change.

She might have to sing someone else’s song

But at least they’ll be in her vocal range.


It’s a small price to pay –

Giving up one’s words and voice –

To reach an audience of a hundred

And open for some new business friend.

This is her first step to musical success

This is her first step to her hope’s end.


Miriam’s drum is pounding the pavement

At a rate of 80 beats per minute.


It’s not just about her voice, she finds out

And everyone here can play guitar.

The producer chastises her like a child:

It’s about her hips and dips and curves

She has to wear better-than-Target clothes.

And her name is no longer hers.


She’s already had seven different members

Of her three piece county band.

One moved on to Memphis,

Another just disappeared.

The other two? They  were more successful than her

Just like she always feared.


Our musician’s heart is pounding in her chest

At the rate of 90 beats per minute.


This is her last chance, she thinks,

To make a lasting impression.

Her pulse is going so fast

That she has lost her health and remains unfocused

She’s in a mix of depression and aggression

All she really wanted was the attention of us.


She thinks the producer is reaching

For the guitar that is laid in her lap.

So she cringes as he touches her leg instead.

She thought that she came here to share in art

Not expose her body, sell a product,

And silence the music in her heart.


Miriam’s drum is not pounding the pavement.

There are no beats in this minute.


Our musical soul has picked her foot up

Off the streets of and onto a one-way bus.

She has packed up her dreams and her life.

Maybe in some other town she could have been a star

A writer, singing her own songs

But Nashville has stolen her acoustic guitar.


Miriam’s drum is pounding the pavement

At a rate of 60 beats per minute…