Shownotes
Racquetball is cheaper than therapy
And a heart is a soul in a dust
Whose life has a song in its chime.
We have to sing a silent life of youth,
We wander to the summer days by song;
When they take to the melodies we go along;
Break not this music of this perfect song,
Whisper the whole love of my life along,
Till I come to the forest with song.
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