"You know. Now that you're dumping the job on me, I think numbers aren't so bad," John responded cheekily, with a short laugh. "Give them an air mystery almost."
He grimaced slightly at the encouragement, but even without a soul he responded to other's requests naturally. It was true he didn't have a bad voice. It was quite clear and strong. He'd been part of the choir, once, when he was young. He'd left it in his rebellion, but he always still enjoyed singing.
He frowned slightly as he pondered the words, but hardly anything came to him as he strummed. After a frustrating moment he switched to an older song, one he'd learned and enjoyed on the radio. It was a more current interpretation of a classic folk song, but the melody always seemed timeless to the blonde.
He started to sing, quickly outing himself as a bit of a liar. His voice was clear, and strong, with an edge of roughness that was common enough among southern singers. Apart from church he hadn't sang often even before he was brought to the dead world, other than muttering along with his instrument, but he was known for humming and whistling to himself, and usually had a song in his head.
When he finished he chuckled, shaking his head as he put both arms on top of the guitar and leaned forward. "Haven't finished a song since before I was turned," he mused, the thought striking him as odd.