|
Wild guitars came from forests; plainly, woodsmen share a calling |
|
Flailing noises form a chorus: harmonies of arbors falling |
|
And they play, say Conway, and ring, my girl sing |
|
and plead and beg and plead and beg and plead and beg and plead and beg to be heard and had and carried on |
|
Without us, song is nothing |
|
My wife turned crazy on me one day; started chopping up the bed |
|
Looked past me with gaping eyes |
|
Left me too hard to be scared |
|
She left, but circled the yard |
|
All night she haunted the home |
|
The kids went crazy, life was hard |
|
The sounds of rings: boom |
|
And they play, say Conway, and ring, my girl sing |
|
and plead and beg and plead and beg and plead and beg and plead and beg to be heard and had and carried on |
|
Without us, song is nothing |
|
I taught the children to play piano, singing with sweet voice |
|
Music kept their mom away |
|
Melody fostered choice, and choice brought us these days we have, and choice brought us to our rejoicing |
|
Always choose the noise of music...always end the day in singing |
|
And they play, don't they? |
|
And ring, and everything |
|
And bounce and boil and bounce and boil and bounce and boil, and plead and beg to be heard and had and carried on |
|
Without us, song is nothing |