POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

PROMPT #116 – I’VE HEARD THAT SONG BEFORE

For many of us, songs carry associations, moods, emotions, memories. Some may be good; some may be bad; some may be ambiguous. The old Jule Styne – Sammy Cahn song, I’ve Heard That Song Before, suggests a pleasurable association that nonetheless is sufficiently faded in memory that the listener asks to “have them play it again.” Write a poem based on a song. You might want to write new words to fit existing lyrics, or write an entirely different set of lines that nonetheless have some connection with the song, or what the song means to you.

MARIE ELENA’S OLDIE (Hey!  No snickering out there!)

IF YOU WISH YOU WERE A STAR

To the lovely classic “When You Wish Upon a Star” by Leigh Harline [melody] and Ned Washington [lyrics]:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQTzO2eRwwE

(To be sung softly, dreamily, wistfully; with your hands clasped together near your heart, for effect… )

If you wish you were a star
First consider how bizarre;
Paparazzi all around
Would stalk,
and hound.

Would you be a Meryl Streep?
Jacqueline Bisset of “The Deep?”
Ravishing Miss Leigh of “Streetcar?”
Rose – anne – Barr?

(Bridge)
Fate is kind
She left me disinclined
To live like actresses
Before the mass – es.

So, consider my advice
Stardom is not paradise.
When you look at me, foresee
Ob – scur – i – ty!

© Copyright Marie Elena Good, 2009

WILLIAM PRESTON’S EXAMPLE

 ON HEARING HARBOR LIGHTS

One song,
oft repeated,
limns and encapsulates
two hearts; a few days; many years;
one love.
 
© Copyright William Preston, 2013

Note: Harbor Lights, written by Jimmy Kennedy and Hugh Williams.

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214 thoughts on “PROMPT #116 – I’VE HEARD THAT SONG BEFORE

  1. Marjory MT on said:

    I admit – I do not know the correct spelling of the name of the song I selected….
    [corrections accepted 😉 ]
    “O Sol Amio” [Oh how I love you]
    With full orchestra background if you please.

    Our meeting wa–s by chance,
    We did not pla–n the glance
    that caused our eyes to lock
    with look to stop a clock.

    You were so dream—y
    You made me steam—y
    and now I’m burning
    to know – you more.

    Oooooo…
    I might…
    could love you,
    Maybe adore you.
    Are you with culture?
    Have whit or humor?

    I long to know more…
    Can you write so stunning
    your lines full running
    away with thoughts
    that just – might rhyme.

    You were so dream—y
    You made me steam—y
    and now I’m burning
    to know – you more.

    Do you too feel
    that this is real
    and are you burning
    to know me more?

    Please let me know,
    don’t let me go
    my way back home
    to burn alone.

    Oooooo…
    might I…
    could I love yo – u,….

  2. I hope I’m allowed to use lines from the song…I used a couple here. 🙂

    On My Own…

    I wander among the trees at night,
    Pretending he’s beside me,
    All alone, I walk here on my own,
    And see us together, him and me;

    I feel his arms encircle me, yet
    I know it’s just in my mind,
    I walk here on my own, all alone,
    How can he be so obtusely blind?

    Darkness descends and mist arises,
    The moonlight shines like silver,
    All alone, I walk here on my own,
    The rain, my tears, fall in the river;

    I still seem to feel his skin on mine,
    But when the night has faded,
    I walk here on my own, all alone,
    My very dreams and hopes all ended:

    He doesn’t hear or see me at all,
    Doesn’t feel my lone kiss blown,
    All alone, I walk here all alone,
    I love him, but only on my own.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    Song: On My Own
    Music and Lyrics by Claude-Michel Schönberg and Herbert Kretzmer
    From the musical, Les Misérables

  3. I DON’T DANCE

    When they begin the beguine
    I’ll be putting the finishing touches
    to a Finnish ballet
    that will have the world
    standing on its toes

    When they begin the beguine
    I will write my last bucket entry
    something like
    May I be your ballerino
    for one operatic moment, Babe?

    When they begin the beguine
    I will tell them once and for all
    the absolute truth :
    I don’t dance (don’t ask me)
    how all my life I could only dream.

    Trumpets will blow
    An angel in a Brooks Brothers suit
    will strum a golden harp
    All things earthly will end
    and I’ll go with the flow
    when they begin the beguine

    #

  4. These are all such fun!

  5. DebiSwim on said:

    Well, I am from WV

    (Country Roads, John Denver)

    Peaceful Dreams

    Sweet Idyllic, home of my youth
    Iron Mountains,
    the Doe and the Forge.
    Life was good there,
    innocent and free,
    summers running wild
    fun that never ends.

    Peaceful dreams, take me back
    to my sweet childhood home
    Rainbow Holler, end of the road
    take me back, peaceful dreams

    I remember, deep within me
    grandma’s apron, all the ways she used it
    wiped off smudges, fanned away the flies,
    carried eggs tenderly, dried tears from our eyes.

    Chorus

    I see her there, her blue-veined hands ever busy
    the radio is playing bluegrass gospel music
    and waking from my dream, I have a longing
    but I know well it’s, just a dream, just a dream.

  6. William Preston on said:

    Marie, I think your your take is great. Oddly enough, I just saw a Bette Davis film, The Star, about a fallen star and her attempts to live a “normal” life. Interestingly, Davis, who was proud of her “Yankee” (Maine) upbringing, had a realistic view of the theatre and movie world, which might be why she lasted so long.

  7. connielpeters on said:

    Just time for a quickie.

    North to Alaska
    Five relatives on a boat
    Will we stay afloat?

  8. Copacabana (At the Copa)

    At the Copa he’d–a hope–a she’d elope–a wi’ him now.
    He gave Lola laced, spiked cola. Lost her soul–a. And her mind. Ciao.

    ###

  9. Sing-Song Nursery Rhyme Adjusted for Inflation

    Songs of sixpence? Well, no offense: not present tense. Things cost lots more.
    ‘Though it sounds nice, the purchase price is more than twice what was before.

  10. I love the prompt, so I give you two for the price of one 😉 , both inspired by a lovely old favorite, Time After Time, by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne; 1947. I love that the emphasis in this song is in how lucky a person is to “be loving,” not on receiving but in loving. The song has a good attitude.

    Take 1:

    Loving

    Some things I tell myself bear truth
    of how I fit into the world,
    of what my own good fortune is,
    of simple wonders bearing fruit.

    Some things help me to shoulder time
    as if the heart were timeless too,
    for lucky me meets loving me
    in how my life fills, loving you.

    —————————————————————-
    Take 2:

    Narcissus Sings of Love

    Time after time,
    he thinks he is sublime,
    a gift to people far and near.
    So lucky are they,
    it takes his breath away
    that he offers himself to revere.

    He only knows that he’s so
    fantastic—do they know?—
    they’ll hardly bless him should he sneeze.
    And time after time,
    he thinks it is a crime
    that they don’t see him as he sees.

    • Great job, Jane. So different from each other, and each such easy reads.

    • William Preston on said:

      I love so many things about your poems, beginning with the song that inspired them. They’re they same folks who wrote I’ve Heard That Song Before, but <i.Time After Time feels majestic by comparison. That soaring feeling made your parody all the funnier; it reminded me of the late Harvey Korman’s parody, “All The Things I Are. Your first take is completely different, a wonderful reflection of the heart of Time After Time. Superb work, which I say so much about your poems, I’m afraid of it sounding cliche.I

    • janeshlensky on said:

      Thanks, friends. I play such wonderful old songs for assisted living folks and they sing their own naughty lyrics for me.

  11. Fly Me to the Moon – In Memorandum, February 21, 2004

    When she was very young, her dad had danced her
    around the dining room, humming and scatting the strains of a song.
    From that moment on, that one particular song held very special meaning,
    no matter whom she heard singing the words, “Fly me to the moon…”

    …and so many did, like Sinatra, Wilson, Fitzgerald and Reese,
    although none could ‘do’ it like her dad.
    Bart Howard let them all play among the stars, and they believed in it – and in him.
    And even though his fingers wouldn’t grace those eighty-eight keys ever again,

    his legacy, unlike those eighty-eight keys,
    was not in black and white. It never was, because it couldn’t be,
    because it was he who found the way to let us know
    what Spring was like on Jupiter and Mars. Even in a dining room, dancing on a father’s toes.

    So, in other words, there was only a small sidebar to the news of the day.
    But once, Bart Howard spun moonlight in song for a young girl and her dad to dance to,
    and no other song, by Howard or anyone else, could ever capture the same moon-mystique…
    not by any artists or by her father or even her.

    ###

    This poem is actually something I wrote in 2007. The original challenge, from Sol Magazine, was to write a poem based on a news event. At first, I thought of doing an obit to honor the composer of Fly Me to the Moon, a song which holds special meaning for me regarding my dad. That’s the above poem.

    But then, I saw something in the news which troubled me (a lot) and, unusual for me because it was neither humorous nor in rhyme, I quickly wrote a different poem addressing that particular news issue. I never submitted the above poem, as it happened, but rather, sent in that second, hastily penned poem – which, surprisingly, took 1st place in the competition.

    Just now, thinking of old classic songs, Fly Me to the Moon came into my head, and I remembered that poem from long ago.

  12. Darn! A typo! 1st stanza, 3rd line – it should read, “From that moment on…)

    • Fixed.

      Your poem is so sweet and endearing, RJ. Thanks for filling us in on the story behind it.

      • William Preston on said:

        I’d like to echo that. I remember when that song was first popular; I hadn’t realized it became a jazz standard. No matter; the story you told about it would be endearing if the song were anything else. I loved how you worked in Howard’s lyrics here and there.

  13. You are My Sunshine

    1. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”
    I sang that song when I was 4 years old
    There was another relative playing his harmonica
    And in the chorus, everyone in the place joined in.

    2. When I opened my eyes I saw the sun
    pouring his golden rays into our room.
    Bathing us together in a warm and cozy embrace.
    How the maple bedstead gleamed in that golden light
    When we opened up the curtains and let the sunshine in!

  14. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Thank you, all, I have enjoyed this afternoon’s reading!!

  15. YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND

    You just click on my name
    and you know wherever I am
    I will answer as soon as I can.
    When nobody else is around
    You know somehow I can be found,
    I’ll always be here, your facebook friend.

  16. sheryl kay oder on said:

    This is an imperfect parody. Blame its imperfections on—well, you’ll see.

    Blame

    Blame it on my lack of rhythm
    I don’t dance so well.
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
    That is why I fell.

    Yes, he said, “ Let’s just take a chance.
    We can ace this lovely dance.”
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
    Now, please help me up.

    Don’t stand and stare.
    No, no, please help.
    Don’t you even care?
    Help me get back up.
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm
    That is why I fell.

    Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
    Don’t leave me on the floor.
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
    You’re heading out the door?

    He’d said, “Let’s have fun, my girl
    and give this dance a whirl.”
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
    That is why I fell.

    Oh, who are you
    (You’re not my boyfriend.)
    with your eyes so blue?
    Can you help me up?
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm
    that we met like this.

    He saw me on the floor—
    some bossa nova.
    and the closing door—
    No more bossa nova
    Then he took my hand.
    Isn’t new love grand?
    Blame it on my lack of rhythm
    and my fall to love.

    • *grin* Cute one, Sheryl! Hmmm … true story? 😉

      • sheryl kay oder on said:

        The only true thing is my lack of rhythm. I know nothing of the bossa nova, except it is a dance, and most dances require more rhythm than I have. I was about to despair of thinking of a poem here until I saw and article about Edye Gorme and Chicago. The lack of rhythm line came out of nowhere, and off I went. The only true thing is my lack of rhythm. I know nothing of the bossa nova, except it is a dance, and most dances require more rhythm than I have. I was about to despair of thinking of a poem here until I saw and article about Edye Gorme and Chicago. The lack of rhythm line came out of nowhere, and off I went.

        • sheryl kay oder on said:

          I must have a lack of patience, too. I didn’t want long enough for my comment to post, bringing on a repetition of everything I wrote.

          • William Preston on said:

            Which dovetails perfectly with this piece, in my opinion. I though this was wonderfully funny, and the twist at the end, endearing.

    • I really like this one, Sheryl.

  17. I love this prompt! Might try another later but for now, this is spoof on my favourite Cole Porter song…

    Every Time I Ask Why Me (after Cole Porter’s Every Time We Say Goodbye)

    Every time I ask why me
    I smile a lot now
    Every time I ask why me
    I buy another brown cow
    Knowing just how silly
    It is to wonder at all
    Life’s so willy-nilly
    Why not just have a ball

    If I’m here
    Must mean I live
    above the sod still
    Might as well jump up and down
    And carry on so I will
    Really it’s the best thing
    next to being rich and famous
    I’ll stop wondering
    Every time I ask why me

  18. Lovely poem, William.
    Marie Elena, I was singing your poem the whole way through.

  19. I think the late, great Eydie Gormé sang this:

    Blame it on the Cosa Nostra – so felonious.
    Blame it on the Cosa Nostra, not erroneous
    that it all began with just one crime spree
    and continues on with each ‘family.’
    Blame it on the Cosa Nostra:
    The Mafia.

    ###

  20. elishevasmom on said:

    Summertime
    (that noise in the background is probably George Gershwin turning in his grave)

    Summertime
    and the driving’s expensive,
    gas prices jumping
    with no end in sight.

    Oh your daddy’s rich
    or he wouldn’t be driving,
    all of the day
    and half of the night.

    One of these morning,
    you’re going to get your license,
    and you’ll take your keys
    to hit the road.

    But before taking the wheels,
    you’ll need to find a job,
    to carry your part
    of the gasoline load.

    Ellen Knight 8.18.13
    write a poem based on a song

  21. sheryl kay oder on said:

    “Oh your daddy’s rich
    or he wouldn’t be driving,” Funny.

    Of course it could be your daddy WAs rich. 😉 After paying for gas, no more.

  22. Starry, Starry Night
    by Don Mclean

    Starry, Starry Heart

    She was starting to sort out
    artists, developing love
    of manic swirls, giant
    sunflowers, and blue
    irises. Stern Dutch faces,
    and the lonely landscape
    of Arles, painted with passion,
    found the bud which bloomed
    in her. Van Gogh raged, hurt,
    loved. She was feeling mis-
    understood. Soft melody
    of the song touched a spot
    in her heart. Yes, she thought,
    at the close, Vincent, “the world
    was never meant for someone
    as beautiful as you.”

  23. (My apologies to Elvis fans, this came into my head and got stuck…)

    Cow Dog

    By David De Jong

    You aint nothin’ but a cow dog barkin up a tree
    Instead of herdin’ cattle ya let em all roam free
    You need to earn yer keep and fetch em on the hoof
    Instead yer barking at a squirrel dancin’ on the roof

    Now I spend my afternoons roundin’ up cow-calf strays
    Your pushin it to the point this be the last your days
    Dry bunk and plenty of grub, a scratch behind each ear
    I get so dad blame frustrated gonna fetch me a beer

    I’ll take Ransom the horse that old sod-bustin’ geldin’
    Plow through the thicket blazin trails like we is weldin’
    You’ll just sit and watch that heifer break for the gate
    Already knowin’ you run so slow you’ld get there late

    One final warnin’ before I send ya to the vet
    He’ll find some city folk to make ya a household pet
    You’ll just lay on the floor growin’ dust and sheddin’ time
    Wishin’ you had listened and turned them cows on a dime

  24. sheryl kay oder on said:

    😀

  25. William Preston on said:

    A LITTLE CENTO FOR MERCER AND MANCINI

    Often I think this sad old world is whistling in the dark:
    playing at games; acting out names;
    sad little serenade.

    Through a meadow land, toward a closing door,
    wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.
    Smile away each rainy day.

    Come with me to the sweetheart tree;
    let love light the sky up,
    my huckleberry friend.

    From lines in songs by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer: Whistling Away the Dark; Charade; Days of Wine and Roses; Moon River; Smile Away Each Rainy Day; The Sweetheart Tree.

  26. A Rush Hour Waltz

    Carmen’s heart is in my feet.
    My ears sing with her rhythm,
    my toes tripping, each step skipping,
    and I waltz like a toreador into throng
    crowds. Through Bond Street’s tube,
    a flip of my hip through turnstiles,
    and I’m free, running with bulls
    into the pull of your tune.

    # # #

    Georges Bizet – “Les Toreadors” from Carmen Suite No. 1 is my favourite walking music.

  27. Pingback: A Rush Hour Waltz | The Chalk Hills Journal

  28. William Preston on said:

    OLD ROUTE 66 IN THE MOJAVE

    I sing the song as I drive the road,
    now worn out from years of load;
    they called this, Mother, and none other
    calls to mind grapes of wrath, and Tom Joad.

    The part of California I’m in
    seems to personify sin,
    and none other. They called this Mother,
    but harridan fits the desert din

    of trucks and dust that flies through the air
    and tends not to settle there.
    They called this, Mother. And none other
    seems so strict, but yet, strangely, so fair.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    • Excellent, Bill! I have to admit that I had to look up “harridan.” I’ve never heard that term before. Of course, why would I? *wink wink*

      • William Preston on said:

        Can’t imagine why you would. Given the musical allusions here, I was sorely tempted to try to take the old Cohan piece, Harrigan, and “harridanize” it, but I chickened out.

  29. Like the Song Says

    You should be dancing
    Dancing in the streets
    The dark end of the street
    Do you wanna dance?

    Come go with me
    It’s now or never
    I wanna take you higher
    Give love a chance

    That’ll be the day
    I don’t love you
    Never been a reason
    Ain’t that a shame

    I hear you knocking
    Get away from my door
    You dropped a bomb on me
    I don’t even know your name

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  30. ejparsons on said:

    To the tune of “With a Little Help From My Friends”

    I Can Write Better Than I Can Speak

    What would you do if I wrote you a poem
    Would you keep it or throw it away
    Just take a look at this piece that I wrote
    Filled with love and the things I can’t say
    Oh I can write better than I can speak
    Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
    Yes I can write better than I can speak

    I write you poems when you out on the town
    (I do better when I’m all alone)
    Words come so easy when you’re not around
    (Still I’m sad when you’re not here at home)
    Oh I can write better than I can speak
    Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
    Yes I can write better than I can speak

    I can say that I love you
    It’s easier in a poem
    Let my words say I love you
    I’ll write it while you’re not home

    (Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
    Yes, I wrote about that yesterday
    (What would you do if you two had a fight?)
    Write an “I’m Sorry” poem right away
    Oh I can write better than I can speak
    Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
    Yes I can write better than I can speak

    I can say that I love you
    It’s easier in a poem
    Let my words say I love you
    I’ll write it while you’re not home

    Oh I can write better than I can speak
    Mm when I stammer I sound very weak
    Oh I can write better than I can speak
    Yes I can write better than I can speak
    Better than I can speeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  31. This weekend we were out looking at houses. There’s something magical about everything being shiny and new. But when we got home, we crunched the numbers and came back to reality. With my sincerest apologies to Frederick Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner who composed the song for ‘My Fair Lady,’ here’s my take on a favorite song from that show: “On The Street Where You Live.”

    IN THE HOUSE WHERE WE LIVE

    There’s a tree about to come crashing down.
    And no matter how we seed, the grass is always brown.
    Siding peels away nearly every day,
    but we stay in the house where we live.

    When my parents died, we were left the house
    that came with a nest of squirrels and one enormous mouse.
    Water stains abound, but no leaks are found.
    Still, we stay in the house where we live.

    And, oh, dad’s “fixes” were vexing.
    Repairs seemed to follow no rule.
    So much that we found is perplexing,
    like that big sink hole that’s become our wading pool.

    But the mem’ries of those who came before
    (those who put the green shag rugs on each and every floor),
    make it hard to leave every creaking eave
    so we stay in the house where we live.

  32. William Preston on said:

    WHEN YOU WORK UPON A CAR

    When you work upon a car,
    makes no difference who you are;
    nothing that your heart desires
    will come to you.

    Though you wish and though you dream,
    any job is too extreme;
    when you work upon a car
    you bash thumbs too.

    Fate’s not kind:
    she brings to those who try
    much anguish and a cry
    of great frustration,

    for that bolt just won’t work through;
    fate just grins, then laughs anew.
    When you work upon a car
    it tortures you.

    Apologies to Leigh Harline and Ned Washington, creators of When You Wish Upon a Star

    Marie, you started sumpthin’

  33. William Preston on said:

    A FAMILIAR CONFUSION

    One day, perhaps, I will be rendered wise,
    for I have known this very scene before.
    I know this tree; I know this rocky shore;
    I’ve sifted sand beneath these very skies.
    The shorebirds here have wheeled before my eyes
    in just this pattern. Hawks aloft have soared
    in kettles just like these, and waves have roared
    their greeting in this way. It’s no surprise,
    therefore, that you have touched my soul, dear heart,
    for you have been here too. I’ve seen your face
    and heard your voice enshrine these close events.
    I love you so, together or apart.
    I wonder when we wandered from this place.
    One day, perhaps, I’ll know, ages hence.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    inspired by Dear Heart, by Henry Mancini, Ray Evans, and Jay Livingston

  34. Songs to Dreamboat Annie
    A boat of lovers,
    the music carries us out to sea
    almost alone, each
    reaching for the other shore…
    just a little more rowing

    past childhood islands
    where old shed skin still gleams
    like too tight jeans
    on the shadowed dream world floor.
    Listen as we sail away,

    guitars filling the sails
    with remembered songs while
    a sly otter smiles, rocking
    to the rhythm of our hearts.
    Now, then, and it begins again.

    • William Preston on said:

      I read this several times; was captivated by images of old shed skin and sly otters smiling. Wonderful.

    • Lorna, forgive me if I’ve welcomed you here before, and just don’t recall your name. Bill (William Preston) used the term “captivated,” and rightfully so. This is quite the captivating piece. Thank you so much for posting. I hope to hear more from you in the future.

      Marie Elena

  35. Iris D on said:

    (DISCLAIMER: Hope this is not taken too seriously, but with the gun debate raging in my state, I just had to get us laughing with my take on the Purple People Eater)
    Gun-totin People Getter
    Oh, I saw this thing coming out of the sky
    It was a shiny drone with a roving eye.
    I commenced a shakin, and I said Oh no
    All my ammo and guns will have to go.

    It was an all seeing ,roving eye
    Gun-totin people getter
    D.C. had sent for me

  36. janeshlensky on said:

    These are all so fun to read.

    Career Plan
    (thanks, Willie)

    Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be teachers.
    Instead of cow capers, they’re buried in papers,
    as lonely as coyotes sound.

    Mamas, better they’re cowboys than underpaid teachers.
    It’s sad but it strange that their working for change
    is the kind that just jangles around.

  37. How much is that doggy in the window?
    The one with the waggle-y tail….

    How much is that doggy in the window?
    the stray one found near the exit to New Hope Road…

    the one who’s found his forever home!!!!!

    Visit my site for a proper introduction to Finley!!

    We rescue a fur-family member!

    Jackie!! I found my heart! ♥

  38. Pingback: Everything After | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  39. Every time she sneezes I believe it’s love
    and oh…. I’m not ready for this sort of thing.
    – Counting Crows, “Anna Begins”

    Everything After

                  God bless you,
                       unearthly daughter
                     moon goddess
                                 quiet queen.

                       Your cough
                                is a murmur that thrums
                            in your throat
                                      as you strum
                               your song.

                     I hold
                          my breath,
                      and hum
                                   along.

    .

  40. Week 8/8 of summer school – two days to go 🙂

    It’s All Over Now

    – after the Rolling Stones song of the same name

    Well, we used to slave here all week long
    It made me weep , even though I’m strong
    Oxford took my soul, I thought I’d die
    But now we are free, I ain’t gonna cry

    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now

    Well, they made me work every hour they could find
    I surely thought that I was gonna lose my mind
    They put me up, but they really put on me
    But I’m laughing now, baby cos I am free

    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now

    Well, I used to work at the weekend, travelling on a bus
    Counting the kids on and off, oh man what a fuss
    But now there’s only one bus I’m gonna take
    Time to get outta Dodge, make a clean break

    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
    Because I used to work here, but it’s all over now
    Because summer school is over and it’s all over now
    Because summer school is over and it’s all over now

    Ladies and Gentlemen, The Teachers have left the building!

    Iain

  41. Pingback: It’s All Over Now | Iain Douglas Kemp Writes – Without Anaesthetic

  42. Blowin’ Smoke – a collage (name this tunes!!)

    They asked me how I knew
    My true love was true
    Oh, I of course replied……

    …you walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht
    Your hat strategically dipped below one eye
    Your scarf it was apricot
    You had one eye on the mirror…

    …and I look at you and suddenly,
    Something in your eyes I see
    Soon begins bewitching me.
    It’s that old …

    …man river,
    Dat ol’ man river
    He mus’know sumpin’
    But don’t say

    …why do birds sing so gay
    And lovers await the break of the day
    Why do they fall in love?
    Why do the rain…

    …drops keep fallin’ on my head
    And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
    Nothin’ seems to fit…

    … ’cause your feets too big
    Don’t want ya, ’cause ya feets too big
    Can’t use ya, ’cause…

    …, when your heart’s on fire
    You must realize
    Smoke gets in your eyes…

    Iain

  43. Pingback: On The Write Path | echoes from the silence

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