Old Guitar, Old Wounds - Blues guitar 🎸

#blues #slowblues #bluesmusic #whiskeyblues Listen to THIS Track on music platforms: ▶️ Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/track/3LVdWI... ▶️ AppleMusic - https://music.apple.com/ua/song/old-g... “Old Guitar, Old Wounds” is a confession of a man who’s lived his entire life through music — and carries his past in the wood and strings of his guitar. It’s not a song about fame or glory. It’s about memory, loss, and loyalty — the kind that only time and pain can teach. Every scratch on the instrument tells a story: a love that burned too bright, a night that went too long, a stage that almost broke him. The guitar isn’t just a tool — it’s the only friend that never left, the one that still sings when words fail. The bluesman in this song doesn’t run from the past anymore. He accepts it, plays it, and lets the sound heal what life has broken. The melody is slow and heavy, but warm — like a fire that refuses to die. This track captures that rare honesty you only find in late-night bars and empty rooms: when the crowd is gone, the smoke hangs in the air, and a man finally speaks the truth — not to others, but to himself. Lyrics: [Verse 1] I found her in the corner, dust on her face, Strings a little broken, but they still embrace. Every song I played was a scar I earned, Every fret I touched — a lesson learned. [Verse 2] The road’s been long, and whiskey’s cheap, Memories I tried so hard to keep. Women came and left like rain, But this old six-string stayed the same. [Chorus] 🎶 Old guitar, old wounds, Play me slow beneath the moon. You know my sins, you know my pain, You keep me real when I go insane. [Verse 3] I bled on your frets, cried through your tone, Played for the crowd, but I was alone. The world forgot the songs I made, But you remember every note I played. [Verse 4] The nights get quiet, the bar gets thin, But when I hold you, I feel alive again. You hum my truth, you hide my cries, You’re the only one who never lies. [Bridge] [Guitar solo – crying bends, long sustain] [Organ swells, bass walks slowly] I don’t need no heaven’s choir, Just this wood and worn-out wire. [Final Chorus] 🎶 Old guitar, old wounds, We both been burned, we both been bruised. You sing my soul when I can’t speak, You make the strong man feel weak.