I see, where I am not supposed to look,
Nights that bluster and skies with not a star,
Happiness lost to smiles that Heaven took,
And days so free, when home is all too far-
And yet I see a comfort lie therein,
For someday should these days become my own,
Mine eyes shall shut and spirit start to sing;
I\'ll think of thee, and I\'ll remember home.
Rappa yo Hands
What do you call a clavi that's also a toaster?
Y'all act like you've never seen a rappin' banjo before,
Jaws all on the floor,
Like a clavi with a DP just walked in the door..
See that's funny 'cause the banjo's the DP whore,
Earning favourites galore,
With clav at the back just lookin' bored..
If Nostradamus were here he'd say score,
'cause according to lore,
He reckoned ol' Banjo'd win this here war..
Now I don't know about you, but I'm pretty bored,
Got all the way to verse four,
But it's just not funny anymore..
Kinda like the clavio,
Stick that in yer pipe'n'go:
I'm Ban Jovi,
Yes I'm the real Saddam,
But the folk that had clavis wish
They never had 'em..
Ya wish Otab
Would just wheesht up,
Just wheesht up,
Just wheesht up..
Friggin' Real World
The dream world's pretty empty tonight-
I guess that's alright-
It is raining here,
And everybody's doing that stuff that they do,
Trying to figure out the real world,
Keeping the kids warm and dry
And the like..
It'd be nice if someone would
Sit and watch the raindrops
Clavi for President
I wrote me a song
That went to
The tune of Yankee Doooodle
But I wrote it down
On a cake
And ate the whole caboooodle.
So, that one\'s certainly cancelled, what else we got?
Well, sir, we do have this, ehm-
What? Confound it, speak up man!
It\'s a.. a clavi..
(well, the general certainly wasn\'t going to be one bit happy with *that*..)
Private, I\'m not one bit happy with this.
Here comes the clavi,
Lookin\' sucky and blue,
But then again you\'d be
If the clavi was you..
See clavis aren\'t like us,
Unless we\'re like hoovers,
Who all suck like blackholes
And inverted subwoofers..
The clavi calamity\'ll calm down with time,
Eventually one of us\'ll run outta rhyme,
Whence the people will cheer and the banjo-bells chime,
And all that prophecy stuff will be all pretty OK.. about the running outta rhyme..
To all of the clavis a-listenin\' out there,
Y\'all should be quiet, or else should beware,
Confound it, Heart,
I asked you
Not to fall in love;
Now what am I to do?
Looked outside- pretty stormy night..
Nothing of the sort
Scattered on the paper..
There's funk a brewin', and it's quite a sight..
Yon wind is howling, with thunder prowling
Nearby.. scattered.. on recycled skies..
That was the test- that thinger right there..
A tap on the window on a night like that
Will send you to wonder or frightful despair..
"Hey!" said God..
"What's up?" said God..
Pretty strange, that.. what say?
"H-hi." I said rather meekly.. "Is that there piece of work yours?"
God looked confused.
"N-no- yonder.. storm.. thing.." said I..
"Hm? Oh.. heheh.. yes, that.. cookin' me up some poetry I am..
Meteors, torrents.. the whole shebang..
World peace and lovin' and all that I can..
And naught but a storm in the eyes of a man."
He sighed as he sat in the garden, taking up most of it.
He's bigger than you'd expect.
God seemed sad.
"Do me a favour m'good man.. when you wake up you'll probably think
This was all a dream and all that j