Ralph, where have the feelings gone? You fantasia about Thomas Tallis, I fantasia about no Calculus. You feel the good feel, I fight it all the way. You cry through sound, I sound no cry. You wax and wane, I let out a sigh and think, "Changes, long ranges, blindness be, to the future I cannot see but look and guess and hypothesize the lies I tell and do believe that I won't be like you."
Why can't I emulate the symphonate you resonate and EBB and flo with latent woe and I just think "I want this too, this purple blue, this forceful wave to behave by my own rules and tools, but I can't care enough to dare enough to grasp the beast by horns of word and master lines of so absurd love's and lie's and who's and why's and fall flat on my foolish face."
Pachebel me straight to Hell and I'll quell the depression blues in 1's and 2', 3/4's and more's with scores of notes on page and page devoid of rage with soothing, joyous happy sounds.
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