Industry is the enemy of melancholy, a wise man said. I could step into the garden, pull back the cover of pine needles, search for shoots.
Tomorrow. Surely tomorrow. Not today.
Lady Grey.
And the tape spins around
And around and around
And the tape spins around we go
Woke up early
And my head was full
And the tape spins around we go
It’s nothing new
It’s the same old stuff
And the tape spins around we go
A dog with a bone
You’re a dog with a bone
And the tape spins around we go
The rut runs smooth
It’s an easy groove
And the tape spins around we go
Try a glass of wine
Walk another mile
And the tape spins around we go
When will it change?
When will the old things change?
When will I let it go?
And the tape spins around we go