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So many nights I've sat at this desk
Trying to develop a tune.
Such an elusive melody, it seems
As great as Claire de Lune.
At least it must be presumed
By any rather candid onlooker.
As, quite frankly, my friends, my dears
Inspiration is a really pissy hooker.
As soon as I begin a piece
It seems glowing and sweet.
But when I exhaust my meagre facilities
It's bulging from what's really not 1337.
How many times have I murdered a sonata
A toccata, and maybe a concerto?
I haven't kept track, and don't intend to now--
For if I start I'm sure to-- are you sure that bass isn't Alberto?
And! Alas! It seems my time's at an end
Don't fret, as though you were going to anyway.
But just keep in mind my plight, kind sirs
And hate the Inspirer for the rest of your days.
- by a little monster with pie |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 10/30/2009 |
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- Title: Reflections on Composition
- Artist: a little monster with pie
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Description:
Mildly comedic, but also a bit of an outlash at Miss Imagination herself.
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Only a musician would probably get the Alberti bass joke in the fourth stanza.
This is pathetic, right? - Date: 10/30/2009
- Tags: reflections poetry
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