Vocal | Chords
I want a voice of my own. | A rasp like Dylan’s -| two bars, you know it’s him. | A voice is not what you say | but how you say it; | Dylan could wring agonies | from Mary and her little lamb. | And don’t get me started | on Jack and Jill..! | If you were from another planet | or spoke another language | you could still tell it was Dylan | or Sinatra. | Or Betjeman, come to that. | A voice exists beyond the words, | in the insubstantial spaces between them, | living the high-life in a parallel universe. | So I weave words on the page | to create a portal to another realm, | to connect to a sense beyond the surface, | braving all the self-scrutiny | summoning up the courage | to see if I can get there.