| I sit me down and look at you |
(jocularly) |
| The old familiar sidelong view |
|
| I shift the chair and arch my back |
|
| And leaning forward take my tack. |
|
| |
|
| Plick, plock, pluck |
(quick, in staccato style) |
| All the notes that come unstuck |
|
| Twitch, twip, twether |
|
| Oh may they come together |
|
| I sometimes think they sort of do |
(not quite there yet) |
| But often feel no never. |
|
| Now hear me strings, I'm the boss |
(plucky, bossy) |
| Without my fingers you're at a loss |
|
| So stretch yourselves and give me tone |
|
| For you I'm working to the bone. |
|
| |
|
| Plick, plock, pluck |
|
| All the notes that come unstuck |
|
| Twitch, twip, twether |
|
| Oh may they come together |
|
| Those times it works and truly fits |
(slightly boastful) |
| I really think I'm clever. |
|
| And when the thought that’s in my head |
(in a contented style) |
| Unfettered to the strings is led |
|
| When fingers move as they should do |
|
| I live in peace alongside you. |
|
| |
|
| Plick, plock, pluck |
|
| All the notes that come unstuck |
|
| Twitch, twip, twether |
|
| Oh may they come together |
|
| Charm the ear and reach the heart |
(much more slowly) |
| And stay there then forever. |
(very slowly with lowered voice) |
