Motorcycles And Guitars

John McCrae, 1872 - 1918 In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the dead; short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe! To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high! If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

Resonator on the porch.

Police Week. Absent friends

Warren Zevon. Keep Me In Your Heart

Maybe it's just me though.

All of 'em mine too.

Blues Portrait

Along the road.

I hope it sounds like it looks.