I wrote you a song once, cheap harmonies
ruined the high notes. The lyrics were bleak
meaningless but still got stuck in my head.
The rhythm upset my balance, one step
too far. I just wanted to let you dance.
I thought you'd like the syncopated steps.

The middle eight gave me cabin fever
just before the choir had chance to kick in.
I fell off the piano stool as key
changes begged for a new lease of life
and ruptured a piano that I had
never played. Hoping to refresh the work

It didn't, it made the structure seem cold
rigid and cliché. The first draft was lost
to a sea of never ending re-writes.
Tough winters always break hard on sea walls
where song-writes huddle together for warmth.
My tuneless whistle carried by the waves

To be caught by a beggar on strange lands.
Not another message in a bottle
floated south in the hope of cheap safety.
This was another attempt at the words
to a song that I hoped to write for you
but I wasn't sure you'd believe it yet.

I waited until the time signature
had found its footing before I dared to
leave.

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