Ten thousand hours, and for what ?
To competently plink and drone
In time, in tune – but that’s my lot:
Just strumming to the gramophone,
Cos covers is all I’ve ever got –
I’ve no new tunes of my own.
And actually, I must have sung
Ten thousand hours, and thousands more,
And still my voice is lowly strung.
I’ve had it with this urban lore !
I’m glad I haven’t yet begun
To waste my time to learn the score !
There was a time when music-lovers
Rarely dined on the food of love.
Before the wireless or phonograph,
You needed an orchestra on staff.
Before they built the Pianola,
Only a pianist could get enough.
For ev’ryone else, it’s chiming clocks,
Or the barrel organ and music box.
Imagine a song. Any song,
Just as long as you love it.
Imagine that song was heard once,
And then never again.
Imagine that song is now gone,
But you know that you love it
But cannot recall a damn note !
Refrain the refrain.