The man in 119 takes his tea all alone.
Mornings we all rise, to wireless Verdi cries.
I'm hearing opera through the door.
The souls of men and women,
impassioned all.
Their voices climb and fall;
battle trumpets call.
I fill the bath and climb inside,
singing
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
He will not touch their pastry
but every day they bring him more.
Gold from the breakfast tray,
I steal them all away
and then go eat them on the shore.
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
la la la la la la-la-la-la-la
I draw a jackal-headed woman in the sand
sing of a lover’s fate
sealed by jealous hate and
wash my hand in the sea.
With just three days more I’d have
just about learned the entire score
to Aida.
Ho-oh-olidays must end, as you know.
All is memory,
taken home with me:
the opera, the stolen tea,
the sand drawing, the virgin sea, all
years ago.
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
G/B:X2003X
GENE
