I do not want to sing their songs
Sung with heightened jaunts
Underlined by drumbeat thuds.
I want to sing solemn verses-
The songs that lie deeper in my heart,
Unaccompanied by chanting choruses
No jingles, saxophones nor pianos
But a lone voice that echoes sky high
From under bushes of mushroom hills.
I sing the songs to lonely hearts
Who have the guts to hum along
With one voice that rises higher
Than Troutbeck mountains,
Then swirls up, up and up
Like the sound of an overblown trumpet.
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