Shhhh, I have several ideas

 

The cathedral spaces of Chartres, say, even the unseen ones, are peopled with the fairies of nuance. We just can't dance. 

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So here below, absolutely no kidding, is lyrics to a song, the music of which I'm inviting anyone from anywhere to write. Free. It's all yours, all public, all giveaway, all grace, all pitch hey batter batter and invitation to swing.

 Just be careful not to bother Sophie Webdell in her compositional efforts, because she may just bee as persnickety and rude as her mother, Valerie, and might bite the honey. I love them both to the nth degree of the diatonic scale of the s degree, plus. They, even at a distance, have been at the center of my redemption and survival, and I thank them all unanimously with all my Pandyan military heart, optional breakfast provided (made by dudey me) whenever she-she wishes. I cannot believe my eyes sometimes, even though I need them.

On another note, the Shades of Gray ought to return sometime. No breakfast though. We have some playing to make up for. 

On another note: F

On another note: uh Nobel please. I like the good stuff. 

But without further ado, das first-time song, tenk yu tru blue but you did not write it so toohnt sink u cin take credit card from moi poi is good we should try it with sugar and wheat...

aisdmgosdpaogiiff (not part of the song)

 

C                                    G                          A

It’s a waste to know you can't apply here,

P                           G                 F                 P is 464 of G

it’s a junk to know the night is on,

A                 F64                      G                 G7m     

when gold perception ever comes upon you...

C7               Bflat           C7               D                 A

the baby train of love can chug on through.

 

Chorus

Come on thru, come on thruuuu

7       7       7       v        9       10

I just loved the baby train of you,

7       7       7       v        9       10

7       7       7       7       7       cn

Come on thru, come on thruuuuu

po     po     po    cn      ty      cn      v

Make the thru delicious kind to me.

 

My man's Typee, the second son of Aldrin

(who was the second man to step upon the moon)

but I do swear the number 2’s my favorite

we’re talking sweater, red apples and God's hair.

 

This is the last burst of our lost communion,

therefore I call thee beauty man adieu,

but if he’ll be my baby train believer

I’ll never say a whisk of ta-ta-doo.

 

Chorus

This is the last broom of our last communion

therefore will I never say adieu.

Come on thru, come on thruuuuu,

shovel steam don't disregard the cue.

HB