I LOVE old guitars. The “seed” for this song was a scratch on a very old Martin. I got to wondering when that scratch happened, and then I got to wondering what all had happened with that guitar that was older than me by over 50 years. How many people had played it? How many songs were written on it? Where had it been? What sort of life had it led? I also think humans and guitars both get MORE interesting as they age generally. So this song is also a bit of an extended allagory to that concept. Much of the song could be about a person or a guitar. Could you imagine all the things you would see? Born so long ago of wood and strings And the hands that you’d pass through, And the songs that you would see. I’m looking now at your battle scars, From gunny sacs and old boxcars. Did you sooth a dust bowl heart, Under Oklahoma stars? Or fill a room on a blacked out night, Singing songs that it would turn out right. Did your lover he go over? Did you sing about the cliffs of Dover? Chorus: How many songs of heartache? And how many strings did you break? Giving back when we implored you old friend of the troubadour. Where did you get that scratch on your face? A careless ring or where you misplaced? Did you end up on the floor? Were you singing out against the war? Were you playing on the day I was born? Something lively or something forlorn. Were there fingers upon your frets? Cause wood never forgets. Chorus: All of the songs…… We may get lines on our face. You might throw a brace. But time gives us things that can’t be faked. It’s the feel of a lovers embrace. Your hand falls in just the right place And that scar upon your side, Makes you look even more dignified. ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94VlhQ_0z0U