ramblings and things
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The Music Man
He was a great loss to the community his obituary said
Our culture would suffer greatly now that he was dead
I was on the train home when Les told me he'd died
Neither felt any sorrow, couldn't have if we'd tried.
He played the organ at the Minster,
Taught music at our school.
Just common working class lads
He always treated as fools;
Laughed at our yorkie accents,
Always ready to use his cane,
Made every single music lesson
Times of humiliation and pain.
One Guy Fawkes they built a super banger
In the cellar beneath his class room floor
Just to give him a shock
Really nothing more.
I suppose it was lucky they were nearly caught
And the gunpowder plot quickly came to naught.
I was telling Mrs B the story.
She said I can feel your hate.
After all those years I thought
Can it really be too late
To look at things differently and to try and understand
He was a product of his time in a lot different England,
When the world was changing quickly, maybe far too fast.
Maybe he was stuck permanently in his own warped past;
Now in our modern schools
Thank any god out there
A man like him would never
Be given any child's care.
So Mrs B, on second thoughts
It really is far too late
I can maybe feel a little pity
But I can't lose that hate.
He was a great loss to the community, so his obituary said
Our culture would suffer greatly now that he was dead.
Our culture would suffer greatly now that he was dead
I was on the train home when Les told me he'd died
Neither felt any sorrow, couldn't have if we'd tried.
He played the organ at the Minster,
Taught music at our school.
Just common working class lads
He always treated as fools;
Laughed at our yorkie accents,
Always ready to use his cane,
Made every single music lesson
Times of humiliation and pain.
One Guy Fawkes they built a super banger
In the cellar beneath his class room floor
Just to give him a shock
Really nothing more.
I suppose it was lucky they were nearly caught
And the gunpowder plot quickly came to naught.
I was telling Mrs B the story.
She said I can feel your hate.
After all those years I thought
Can it really be too late
To look at things differently and to try and understand
He was a product of his time in a lot different England,
When the world was changing quickly, maybe far too fast.
Maybe he was stuck permanently in his own warped past;
Now in our modern schools
Thank any god out there
A man like him would never
Be given any child's care.
So Mrs B, on second thoughts
It really is far too late
I can maybe feel a little pity
But I can't lose that hate.
He was a great loss to the community, so his obituary said
Our culture would suffer greatly now that he was dead.
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The Music Man
The Music Man