In my song for today, there is a pretty mum, your very own mum, with you cradled in her lap, your head caressed by hers, stroking your locks she voices her hopes for your happiness, telling the opportunity of finding a love along a path that is like a gift every day. The more you listen to her heart the more you listen to your heart, each time with more accuteness, writing ‘’Single’’ instantaneously, composing with … the best of musicians, the history of the day, in a grand hotel, of the likes of Artistic Palace, secure that the trace, one day, will become a house, a home, in the proper sense of the word, an Italian-American home as has never been seen before, which makes us sing (in Italian): Sei il mio canto. There must be, somewhere, some official copyright for this title, proving its own musical paternity. There must be, somewhere, in La Perle de France, a music manuscript notebook with notes pencilled in by a girl of fifteen, whose notes have sketched the melody of my 17 years of existence / whose notes have filled the staves with my 17 years of existence. All that needs to be done is to pen them out in ink, indelibly, so that we’ll go back to a time when one solitary groove could change your life completely, until its very end. Simply for the sake of survival, I want you to know more than one BEAUTY knows in the secret of her heart, first and foremost, that this song is sacred, and that it can never be forgotten, even if we must turn the sound up, to saturation even, amplifying the voices of the the Beatles’ progeny, They sing ‘’It’s a song for today all my life’’… that begins like some mad arabesque, flying up to you … Who will ever know what the outcome will be?
Exposition PICTURAL VINCENT TONDO
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