Many years ago, I started writing a song.
It’s a song about how love is not, as songwriters would have you believe, a purely above-the-equator pursuit (“the lusty month of May”, “as cold as Christmas”, “the leaves of brown came tumbling down, remember, that September in the rain”, “Summer, you old Indian summer, you’re the tear that comes after June-time’s laughter” etc. etc.)
Last week, I finished it:
And by “finished it”, I mean I did up a nice shiny piano-vocal chart too. It’s here.