When I'm in the atelier of my mind
I return to that feeling
Of not being able to run away and escape

I could be in the middle of a fair in Buenos Aires

It could be a National day of Thanks

There could be sunlight pouring through the house

And there I am

So a lament for that which always struck me
about singers of songs

Why so sad? So serious? I'd ask

A Lament, and lamentable sounds
And willow trees swaying lugubriously

A Lament, no smiling allowed
We wouldn't want to cheapen something so profound