There once was a boy who fell in love with his guitar.
With a smile he would take her her to his favorite "only boy rockers allowed" bar.
And at  night when alone in there own secret place
His fingers carrassed her shiny red body and face.                 
He would sing to  her stories ,as lust filled his eyes, of love, loss, tragedy, and other girls lies. 
 And it was ok she only told him things he wanted to hear.
Unlike all the others, her adoration was nothing to fear                           
He could leave her for days, weeks even years.
 She always waited patient, even if he had drank 3001 beers.
Never stopping his touch with shakey drunk hands.
Even knowing those hands had touched all the members of last nights all girl band
See his guitar never judged him or made him feel bad, like all his fricken trendy girlfriends always had.
No his guitar made him happy, and only asked of him this
For him to stay a dirty punk rocker not giving a piss