Where Redding Drive meets Lincold Way, there's a boy that sits there, playing his guitar. No one knows who he is or why he does it, but people admire his playing.
He sits there from sunrise to sunset, strumming harmonies or plucking melodies. Usually he doesn't even play a song, it's just something that would come to mind.
Every night at six o'clock sharp, there sits a girl who watches him play. She listens from her porch while she does her homework because it helps her concentrate. The little six year old doesn't know where the music is coming from so she thinks it is from God.
When night falls, everything is quiet except for the faint sound of the guitarman doing his thing.
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the guitarman - michael clifford
أدب الهواة(coming soon) He was a musician that played on the corner. No one knew who he was; he was just there. For he was Michael Clifford, the guitar phenom.
