I know a woman that can turn a bullet into a church bell.
I know a child that can transform ill will into cotton candy bombs.
I know a man that swears it’s quarter till heaven and half past hell whenever he checks his watch.
I know enough to know I’m not even close to knowing everything.
But I do know that when I refer to my fret hand, I mean the one that plays guitar
instead of the one that worries over the weight of the world.