Ode to Dorothy Parker...

Let us play Pooh-sticks with breeze blocks over the motorway And hear the brittle smashes of metal fishes beneath us; What a way to spend a summer’s day!

I may not have been perfect But I was yours completely. I gave you my heart But it was never enough. You tore it out And trampled on it Leaving it shuddering pathetically On the pavement

Only With Our Own!

Music is the food, music is a meal Sound is the seed, Sound is the flower The guitar has a rift The singer has the words The keyboard has the chords The drummer keeps it all together

We are angels, beauty of art A masterpiece, original and glorious A symbol of time, the piece of the puzzle The song of creation, the canvas for painting Free from control, our own person

They were near them he realized. He could feel it...