Studio Musician

I am a studio musician We've never met But you know me well I am the English horn Who plays the poignant counter line 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 as a way To get a dying record sold I never ride the road I never play around I play what they set down I'm a working musician Living from week to week I'm the voice through which empty men try to speak A studio musician Blowin' the chance I seek And when the woodwind cushion rises I start to dream On a low bra*s bed But I awake to horns The drummer calls to me We're up to letter D I'm a man of the moment Pop is my stock and trade Singles, jingles, and demos Conveniently made A studio musician Whose music will die unplayed A studio musician Whose music could have died unplayed