Текст песни Studio Musician - Rupert Holmes

I am a studio musician
We′ve never met
But you know me well
I am the English horn
Who plays the poignant counter-nine
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 eyes,
The way to get a dying record sold
I never ride the road
I never play around
I played what they set down
I'm a working musician
Living from week to week
I'm the voice through each empty men
Tried to speak
A studio musician
Blowin′ the chance I see
And when the woodwind coushin rises
I start to dream
With the low brass bed
But I awake the horns
The drummer calls to me
We′re up the letter D
I'm a man of the moment
Pop is my stock n′ trade
Singles, jingles and demos
Conventently made
A studio musician
Whose music will die unplayed
A studio musician
Whose music could have died unplayed