The Circuit Benders Song

The Circuit Bender’s Song

The drummer’s drummer, Westford’s own,
With pedals on the kit to find a tone.
He’d play the drums and guitar all at once,
A one-man wall of sound for months.

He’d keep the burned CDs inside his grip,
A gate-kept secret on a plastic chip.
But once you caught the vibe, he’d moved along,
Already chasing down a stranger song.

From “Dude, the Vampire,” a demo tape remains,
Where Bill played every part and held the reins.
I’d learn the riffs and think, “He’s got it down,”
But maybe he just liked having me around.

Late night texts would spark a sudden flame,
A random phrase to start a cerebral game.
Lost in the “Bill-Time Continuum” deep and wide,
Analyzing the world on a frantic midnight ride.

He didn’t care for what the strangers thought,
The battles over ego were never fought.
If a four-track broke, he’d fix the gears,
Solving every puzzle through the years.

He’d take a toy and bend the circuit board,
Turning cheap plastic into a professional chord.
He met his demons with a steady hand,
The bravest skeptic in the local band.

Behind the sarcasm and the layers of wit,
A heart of gold was always there to sit.
A boutique shop was waiting in his mind,
A specialized genius, a one-off find.

It’s a heavy cliché to say you’re gone too soon,
Underneath a Westford, New England moon.
I’m sorry for the time that slipped away,
Rest easy, Bill-you’re in the music that we play.