Hendrix

Hendrix Headphones bleed From the chords I believe Were struck by the master… The master of hands… Of ”Ladyland”, electric A vinyl worth the weight Of three bricks of gold For its’ platinum sold, and- I could never trade that thrill That marrow bristling chill For a sack of dollar bills On e-bay’s net exchange For I may be old and strange But am not that far deranged And, ahhhh…the jagged mid-range tone Sweet and smooth like sculpted stone Before the days of cellular phones When Jimi blew my Fosgate cones- In acoustical bliss With a mind-chasing hiss Like a Boa or Cobra In peak tone and pitch And the demon of demons With his tie-dye bandana Toothpick, his stage manna ‘Sweet Decibel Demon’ Twang-god for all seasons Of titanium tweeter domes Disturbed watts and ohms