A thousand kids in his high school class

Ten thousand more in the county

All the same age, all the same place

All of them looking at life with an eye

 

It went pretty good for some, he saw

Sports and jobs and husband and wives

Others are happy with the sidewalks they find

A few got lucky. A few more died

 

Some wound up as insurance salesmen

Some are professors or doctors or heroes

Some are in jail for doing up wrong

And one of them just wrote songs

 

Could be Willy, or Simon or Dylan

Each of them one in a million

This gentle singer was old John Prine

Chicago’s gift, love wrapped in rhymes