His final drive

In loving memory of and dedicated to John D. Lovell, Delhi, ON, Canada

When by the end of 2024 my old buddy John revealed in a mail his serious health situation, I was shattered, and I knew the bad news will not be far away. Memories of shared experiences over the past 33 years came to my mind and made me smile. I was also struck by the cold truth that I was to lose another good friend. Of course, this is normal life, but after many years of hard work, it would be well deserved, and we hadn't met in person for a long time.

We actually wanted to play a round of Golf together, if his back would allow it, or at least have a beer and talk about the wonderful music of the late 60s early 70s. None of this was granted to us, the Great Reaper held its harvest as planned.

Before I learned of his passing, I wrote a few lines that, he as a guitarist, he might have composed a blues melody around it.

I'll see you in heaven one day, and then we'll have plenty of time to talk.

Dedicated to John D. Lovell, Delhi, ON, Canada

19.2.1954 - 14.1.2025

 

The final drive

Intro

The wheels roll slow, that sun’s burnin’ red,

One last round before the day is dead.

To the land where every game is won

To the land where every game is won

Verse 1

Dust kicks up, the road feels wide,

A cart and a dream, no place to hide.

Clubs on his back, fate in his hand,

He’s headed to a place no man understands.

Verse 2

The desert wind whispers, warm and slow,

A cart hums steady, where the cactus’ grow.

Clubs in the back, his hat pulled tight,

On his way to one last fight tonight.

Chorus

Oh, swing that club, let the good times roll,

Playin’ one last round for his weary soul.

Eighteen holes, and the door swings wide,

Heaven’s blues playin’ on the other side.

Verse 3

Every swing, he hears the past,

Echoes of legends, shadows they cast.

The green feels heavy, the air’s so still,

This ain’t just a game, it’s destiny fulfilled.

Verse 4

Every tee echoes stories untold,

His hands feel steady, though they’re weathered and old.

The greens are golden, the sand traps bright,

Every step feels like it’s bathed in light.

Bridge

The 18th hole, the sun sinks low,

One last shot, time to let it go.

The ball flies high, through the fading light,

Hogan opens t'door as it lands just right.

Chorus

Oh, swing that club, let the good times roll,

Playin’ one last round for his weary soul.

Eighteen holes, and the door swings wide,

Heaven’s blues playin’ on the other side.

Outro

Resting forever in heaven’s marquee.

Standing with Hogan, Snead and Brown on tee

A smile on his face, his story is done,

In the land where every game is won.

In the land where every game is won.

In the land where every game is won.

In the land where every game is won.