TheMusicof theFuture
The politest musician that ever was seenWas Montague Meyerbeer Mendelssohn Green.So extremely polite he would take off his hatWhenever he happened to meet with a cat.
The politest musician that ever was seenWas Montague Meyerbeer Mendelssohn Green.So extremely polite he would take off his hatWhenever he happened to meet with a cat.
The politest musician that ever was seenWas Montague Meyerbeer Mendelssohn Green.So extremely polite he would take off his hatWhenever he happened to meet with a cat.
The politest musician that ever was seen
Was Montague Meyerbeer Mendelssohn Green.
So extremely polite he would take off his hat
Whenever he happened to meet with a cat.
“It’s not that I’m partial to cats,” he’d explain;“Their music to me is unspeakable pain.There’s nothing that causes my flesh so to crawlAs when they perform a G-flat caterwaul.Yet I cannot help feeling—in spite of their din—When I hear at a concert the first violinInterpret some exquisite thing of my own,If it were not forcat gutI’d never be known.
“It’s not that I’m partial to cats,” he’d explain;“Their music to me is unspeakable pain.There’s nothing that causes my flesh so to crawlAs when they perform a G-flat caterwaul.Yet I cannot help feeling—in spite of their din—When I hear at a concert the first violinInterpret some exquisite thing of my own,If it were not forcat gutI’d never be known.
“It’s not that I’m partial to cats,” he’d explain;“Their music to me is unspeakable pain.There’s nothing that causes my flesh so to crawlAs when they perform a G-flat caterwaul.
“It’s not that I’m partial to cats,” he’d explain;
“Their music to me is unspeakable pain.
There’s nothing that causes my flesh so to crawl
As when they perform a G-flat caterwaul.
Yet I cannot help feeling—in spite of their din—When I hear at a concert the first violinInterpret some exquisite thing of my own,If it were not forcat gutI’d never be known.
Yet I cannot help feeling—in spite of their din—
When I hear at a concert the first violin
Interpret some exquisite thing of my own,
If it were not forcat gutI’d never be known.
And so, when I bow as you see to a cat,It is n’t toherthat I take off my hat;But to fugues and sonatas that possibly hideUncomposed in her—well—in her tuneful inside!”
And so, when I bow as you see to a cat,It is n’t toherthat I take off my hat;But to fugues and sonatas that possibly hideUncomposed in her—well—in her tuneful inside!”
And so, when I bow as you see to a cat,It is n’t toherthat I take off my hat;But to fugues and sonatas that possibly hideUncomposed in her—well—in her tuneful inside!”
And so, when I bow as you see to a cat,
It is n’t toherthat I take off my hat;
But to fugues and sonatas that possibly hide
Uncomposed in her—well—in her tuneful inside!”