Such a lovely little instrumental, it would be nice to showcase I Miss You Kate on a CD. Just a little creative daydreaming. These might be cool songs in the lineup, recorded again for a fresh sound but not so changed that they lose their original excitement. Critics would probably grumble and say, no new material, huh? As they usually do, but who cares?
I Miss You Kate
Little Wing
Synchronicity I
Seven Days
Walking On the Moon
Tea in the Sahara
Voices inside My Head
Sister Moon
Spirits in the Material World
Mad About You
Saint Augustine in Hell
Fortress around Your Heart
Driven to Tears
St. Agnes and the Burning Train
When the World is Falling Down (You Make the Best of What’s Still Around)
Heavy Cloud No Rain
La Belle Dame sans Regrets
Lithium Sunset
If You There
A Thousand Years
If I Ever Lose My Faith in You
The concept: This is a fantasy reminiscence of the girl who is gone; the one with the circus smile running wild. She met the fictional guy in a sleep trance, a dream dance, a shared romance. And she started writing for seven days; a kind of ultimatum note and oh gee, she had this spirit hanging on her; no doubt her rocket fuel and well, the angel? demon? smart butt? was a bit intimidating as well as slightly possessive. “It seems another suit appeared to challenge me, woe is me.” The dreamscape was like walking...
The concept: This is a fantasy reminiscence of the girl who is gone; the one with the circus smile running wild. She met the fictional guy in a sleep trance, a dream dance, a shared romance. And she started writing for seven days; a kind of ultimatum note and oh gee, she had this spirit hanging on her; no doubt her rocket fuel and well, the angel? demon? smart butt? was a bit intimidating as well as slightly possessive. “It seems another suit appeared to challenge me, woe is me.” The dreamscape was like walking on the moon, although a bit precarious. “I hope my legs don’t break, walking on the moon.”
Suddenly she had company–lots of it. “My sisters and I, have this wish before we die. And it may sound strange, as if our minds are deranged. Please don't ask us why, beneath the sheltering sky, we have this strange obsession. You have the means in your possession. We want our tea in the Sahara with you.” What the heck. This was getting interesting. The girl had a circus of voices in her head and they were writing fiction. Pretend she’s your sister. It’s a good role. You be the sun. She’ll be the moon. We’re crazed playwrights. We are spirits in the material world. The whole deal was mesmerizing. Was he mad about her or was she, with her loaded trolley, just some mad hatter? The menagerie sported some interesting authors.
She walked into the room on the arm of my best friend. I knew whatever happened our friendship would end ... A switchblade in his pocket, murder on his mind. Blessed St. Theresa the whore of Babylon, Madonna and my mother all rolled into one. You've got to understand me, I'm not a piece of wood. Francis of Assisi could never be this good. .... Relax, have a cigar, make yourself at home. Hell is full of high court judges, failed saints. We've got Cardinals, Archbishops, barristers, certified accountants, music critics, they're all here. You're not alone. You're never alone, not here, you're not. OK break's over.
A consummate actor and not to be daunted by this challenge, the hero of the tale says, and if I built this fortress around your heart, encircled you in trenches and barbed wire, then let me build a bridge, for I cannot fill the chasm, and let me set the battlements on fire, because this all did seem a bit like a tug of war.
The plot got a tad ugly in a balancing act. Protest is futile, nothing seems to get through
What's to become of our world, who knows what to do. She was driven to tears and yelled I quit. I want the whole lot of you out of here! But she was St. Agnes and this was the burning train. She couldn’t just quit (this wasn’t in the rules) and they weren’t about to leave. They said, when the world is running down, you make the best of what’s still around. Now our hero said, this is all quite colorful and flashy but what gives? Looks like one heavy cloud but absolutely no rain. And the point is ...? He never found out. She looked back quickly and said, looks like I have to run. Maybe I’m “transform into pumpkin” material in this fairy tale. Not really sure. Kisses. No regrets. Our hero said well, this sure sucked. I've been scattered I've been shattered. I've been knocked out of the race. But I'll get better. I feel your light upon my face. Was she still around? If you there, don't leave me wondering. If you there. He thought about her from time to time.
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves, like galaxies in my head. On and on the mysteries unwind themselves; eternities still unsaid. He could have been lost inside that amusement park funhouse, without a trace, but he wasn’t. And he still has faith in her because come on, who travels around with a posse like hers that doesn’t have a trick or two up their collective sleeve.
Such a lovely little instrumental, it would be nice to showcase I Miss You Kate on a CD. Just a little creative daydreaming. These might be cool songs in the lineup, recorded again for a fresh sound but not so changed that they lose their original excitement. Critics would probably grumble and say, no new material, huh? As they usually do, but who cares?
I Miss You Kate Little Wing Synchronicity I Seven Days Walking On the Moon Tea in the Sahara Voices inside My Head Sister Moon Spirits in the Material World Mad About You Saint Augustine in Hell Fortress around Your Heart Driven to Tears St. Agnes and the Burning Train When the World is Falling Down (You Make the Best of What’s Still Around) Heavy Cloud No Rain La Belle Dame sans Regrets Lithium Sunset If You There A Thousand Years If I Ever Lose My Faith in You
The concept: This is a fantasy reminiscence of the girl who is gone; the one with the circus smile running wild. She met the fictional guy in a sleep trance, a dream dance, a shared romance. And she started writing for seven days; a kind of ultimatum note and oh gee, she had this spirit hanging on her; no doubt her rocket fuel and well, the angel? demon? smart butt? was a bit intimidating as well as slightly possessive. “It seems another suit appeared to challenge me, woe is me.” The dreamscape was like walking...
The concept: This is a fantasy reminiscence of the girl who is gone; the one with the circus smile running wild. She met the fictional guy in a sleep trance, a dream dance, a shared romance. And she started writing for seven days; a kind of ultimatum note and oh gee, she had this spirit hanging on her; no doubt her rocket fuel and well, the angel? demon? smart butt? was a bit intimidating as well as slightly possessive. “It seems another suit appeared to challenge me, woe is me.” The dreamscape was like walking on the moon, although a bit precarious. “I hope my legs don’t break, walking on the moon.”
Suddenly she had company–lots of it. “My sisters and I, have this wish before we die. And it may sound strange, as if our minds are deranged. Please don't ask us why, beneath the sheltering sky, we have this strange obsession. You have the means in your possession. We want our tea in the Sahara with you.” What the heck. This was getting interesting. The girl had a circus of voices in her head and they were writing fiction. Pretend she’s your sister. It’s a good role. You be the sun. She’ll be the moon. We’re crazed playwrights. We are spirits in the material world. The whole deal was mesmerizing. Was he mad about her or was she, with her loaded trolley, just some mad hatter? The menagerie sported some interesting authors.
She walked into the room on the arm of my best friend. I knew whatever happened our friendship would end ... A switchblade in his pocket, murder on his mind. Blessed St. Theresa the whore of Babylon, Madonna and my mother all rolled into one. You've got to understand me, I'm not a piece of wood. Francis of Assisi could never be this good. .... Relax, have a cigar, make yourself at home. Hell is full of high court judges, failed saints. We've got Cardinals, Archbishops, barristers, certified accountants, music critics, they're all here. You're not alone. You're never alone, not here, you're not. OK break's over.
A consummate actor and not to be daunted by this challenge, the hero of the tale says, and if I built this fortress around your heart, encircled you in trenches and barbed wire, then let me build a bridge, for I cannot fill the chasm, and let me set the battlements on fire, because this all did seem a bit like a tug of war.
The plot got a tad ugly in a balancing act. Protest is futile, nothing seems to get through What's to become of our world, who knows what to do. She was driven to tears and yelled I quit. I want the whole lot of you out of here! But she was St. Agnes and this was the burning train. She couldn’t just quit (this wasn’t in the rules) and they weren’t about to leave. They said, when the world is running down, you make the best of what’s still around. Now our hero said, this is all quite colorful and flashy but what gives? Looks like one heavy cloud but absolutely no rain. And the point is ...? He never found out. She looked back quickly and said, looks like I have to run. Maybe I’m “transform into pumpkin” material in this fairy tale. Not really sure. Kisses. No regrets. Our hero said well, this sure sucked. I've been scattered I've been shattered. I've been knocked out of the race. But I'll get better. I feel your light upon my face. Was she still around? If you there, don't leave me wondering. If you there. He thought about her from time to time.
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves, like galaxies in my head. On and on the mysteries unwind themselves; eternities still unsaid. He could have been lost inside that amusement park funhouse, without a trace, but he wasn’t. And he still has faith in her because come on, who travels around with a posse like hers that doesn’t have a trick or two up their collective sleeve.
I always had a corny side ....
yes
yes