This isn’t a cry for help.
It’s just a list of things that didn’t go right.
Some were my fault.
Some were just the weather.
I missed the train by seconds and the job by inches.
I said the truth too early and the lie too late.
I wore the wrong shirt to the right funeral.
I held the door for someone who never looked back.
I bought the ticket for the concert that got canceled.
I learned the lesson after the test was graded.
I loved the one who needed someone else.
I stayed when leaving would’ve saved me.
I walked into rooms where no one knew my name.
I answered questions no one asked.
I gave advice to people who preferred the fall.
I planted seeds in soil that wouldn’t hold.
I tried to fix the leak with words and tape.
I chased the dog that didn’t want to be found.
I wrote the song that no one wanted to sing.
I prayed for peace while holding onto pride.
Hapless isn’t tragic—it’s just tangled.
It’s the feeling of being one step behind the moment.
It’s the sound of your name being mispronounced in every room.
It’s the echo of good intentions that never landed.
Hapless is the story that starts with “almost.”
It’s the dance you learned after the music changed.
It’s the apology you rehearsed for someone who left.
It’s the map that leads to places already closed.
Hapless is the laugh that comes too late to help.
It’s the kindness that gets mistaken for weakness.
It’s the truth that arrives after the damage is done.
It’s the part of you that keeps showing up anyway.
I gave the toast that no one clapped for.
I wore the shoes that squeaked in silence.
I tried to help and made it worse.
I stood in line for something that wasn’t mine.
I told the joke that didn’t land.
I held the note that didn’t fit the chord.
I stayed polite when I should’ve roared.
I kept the peace and lost the war.
I’m not asking for a rewrite.
I’m not hoping for applause.
I just want someone to know
that I showed up despite the odds.
I’m not proud of every moment.
I’m not ashamed of every fall.
I’m just the man who kept on walking
when the world forgot to call.
Hapless isn’t broken—it’s just bruised.
It’s the rhythm of a life that never quite aligned.
It’s the melody that plays beneath the noise.
It’s the grace of trying one more time.
Hapless is the story I’ve been singing.
It’s the truth I never meant to hide.
It’s the reason I’m still strumming
with no spotlight, just the sky.
This isn’t a cry for help.
It’s just a song for anyone
who’s ever been a little too late
and still showed up.

All rights reserved by songwriter and producer Edwin H. Balder.
For more ride-and-rock tracks, click here: https://soundcloud.com/edwin-balder/sets/rusty-marshall-band?si=c5040230a7334213b5d7609527997d7c&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Hapless Rusty Marshall Band

In the shadows of Apache Junction, at the foot of the majestic Superstition Mountains, sits a weathered hacienda. This desert oasis is home to an enigmatic figure, a songwriter whose journey reads like a long, dusty road of honky-tonk bars and college cafeterias. He wasn't chasing fame or glitter; instead, he chose the soul-crushing beauty of music for music's sake.

Years spent hunched over sticky barroom tables and scribbling lyrics on napkins earned him a reputation—not in the spotlight but in the back rooms where deals are made. He wrote melodies that found their way into the hearts of stars who had lost their own muse. He sold his creations for cash, with no recognition, but the whisper of his songs carried the weight of his soul.

Finally, he bought this piece of desert paradise—a stable income from his timeless songs allowed him to live comfortably, if anonymously. Here in this hacienda, with his family beside him and the mountains as his backdrop, he found the peace to write hits under his own name. He chuckled at the irony that now, without chasing fame, he could create music that brought him joy.

In the end, it was never about the spotlight. It was about the journey, the stories, and the songs that wrote themselves through his life. As the sun set behind the Superstitions, casting long shadows over the hacienda, he strummed his guitar and sang—content, unknown, and unburdened by the world's gaze.


Copyright 2019 Edwin H. Balder

I may be dead when fame comes but my real glory was always JULIE & The Kids. Thank you for such love

Hapless Rusty Marshall Band

Edwin Balder