Will wrote this song near the start of his writing and performing career in Austin, speaking directly of the dangers afforded by his choice of a lifestyle. One song on his 1988 release, “Kicking Up Dust,” foretold the struggles of a dedicated singer-songwriter.
I was young & bold,
Sure somehow that I was bound for fame.
I’m alone & cold,
Older now and no one knows my name.
My faith feels used, my songs are blue,
And the rain it is a-fallin’.
My pride is bruised, the bills are due —
I’m a-questioning the calling.
As a dusty old wishing well
Gets the quarter in my jeans,
I’m walking on the dark side of a dream.
Well, it’s an empty bar,
I sing my soul to another lonely barmaid.
And as I pack the guitar, she tells me,
“Don’t feel low, you’ll be packing these places someday.”
If I had a drink for every time
That I heard that promise spoken,
I’d be too drunk to think so I wouldn’t mind
That they’d every one been broken.
As a dusty old wishing well
Gets the dime inside my jeans,
I’m standing on the dark side of a dream.
Well, it’s half past two,
And out in the street, I hear a bum and his guitar.
Yeah, he’s got holes in his shoes
And nothing to eat but he’s screaming he’ll be a star.
God, he’s gone and lost
But he found my fears and he’s putting them to the test.
I turn and toss, I hold my ears,
But he just won’t let me rest.
As a dusty old wishing well
Gets the last cent in my jeans,
I’m falling on the dark side of a dream.
And I’m singing for you
From the dark side of a dream.
Buller's back porch 