I hafta add, there I was, all alone in my apartment for my birthday,
and wanting it that way.
I would rather spend Christmas and New Year's, and my birthday, alone,
remembering my parents and brother, than going out for any other party.
I got a phone call. A drummer wanted to pick me up, saying a Hamilton guitarist had to quit,
because of family problems, and could I rehearse with them for the afternoon.
This almost sounded too good to be true, and I have to worry about being set up.
But the band is nice, and just as I got going about having to be the old man,
this perfect little bassist piped up, saying John, I'm sixty-seven.
Thanks for your wishes, Krummhorn, and now we're both going to be turning the same page,
getting to be 70.
I heard the tallest candle on your cake made a flatulent sound when it was lit.
Sad to say, I did buy birthday presents for myself along the way this year,
and started wearing them on my birthday, being the birthday boy,
but the one thing I ordered that was going to be special for me,
"Like a Flame", hasn't arrived yet. I played my TINKICKER CD,
but I still need a learning and growing experience,
and something truly musically and tonally challenging to jam along with.
My parents aren't here to do that for me, and they always could.
My mother, of Hay descent, was a wild and beautiful singer, prancer and dancer.
I still wear a toque she knit for me in 1984, and it's been through the war.
When I put it on, when I need it the most, it feels like her laying on of hands.
Treasure your wife, Krummhorn, and family. I would if I could.
