Lyrics

AS IF IT WAS MONDAY

He speaks to us at last,
From the furthest of octaves.
Opens his heart
Lets our sound in.
His fate has been cast,
Counting the minims.
His opening task,
To pen a refrain.

So gladly we wait,
'til pen ceases movement.
With soft bated breath,
We offer him space.
And then unannounced,
As if it were Monday,
He begins recitations
And bells chime for love.

'Where are we going?'
He sings in a still voice,
With planetary action
And love for the moon.
What will we do
When we reach destination?
Can interval patterns,
Arrive much too soon?'

Guiding the writing,
Avoiding conundrums,
Large silver letters
Slide from his pen.
No question of reason,
No specific stigmata.
No resting of laurels,
Where once workers bled.

Follows sound fragrance,
Underlies meaning.
This opens an octave
Includes tonal vows.
And rowing on rivers,
Of thoughts & harmonics,
He accepts applause
And takes a small bow.