My ability to get any sleep has deranged like a spiderweb on LSD, but just a moment ago in the street it was thinly but distinctly snowing. I turned on WHRB and got Michael Tippett's A Child of Our Time (1944). I still can't believe Opera Boston folded right before they would have staged the Mozart-out-of-Eliot Hermetic crack of The Midsummer Marriage (1955). I can't believe in impending Thanksgiving.
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- 1: And four hours north of Portland, the radio flips on
- 2: Shaking off the echoes of yesterday
- 3: Everything I love is on the table, everything I love is out to sea
- 4: He tried to run away, well, she hit him with a hammer
- 5: There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard
- 6: She's got a common full of love
- 7: Counts the waves that somehow didn't hit her
- 8: If I were you, I'd be out on the town
- 9: Sit and watch my TV set
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