John Hartford I Reckon
Who's this demon they call commercial
Whose eyes blink and little bells ring as it gathers in the pot
And stares balefully at it's audience of struggling young artists
We're all thinkin' commirsh come here I reckon
Who's this demon called commercial walkin' in the shiny black grooves
Molder classify and restricting those that are already restricted
And caged within a melody I reckon
Had I not made this record I still woulda made these songs
I'da sung them to my family my friends
And softly to myself I reckon
These are some of things that have drifted by my eyes
Seeped into my ears now passed from my mouth
Let the demon have mercy I reckon
