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 brass 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