I am a studio musician

We've never met

But you know me well

I am the English horn

Who plays the poignant counter line

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