The Fly

Here's a feel-good poem by Blake set to music. I made ample use of effects.

Lyrics/poem:
The Fly
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

Miners

I was thinking about mining today.  I used to be quite interested in finding neat rocks.  I remember smashing certain rocks with a sledgehammer to harvest the sweet, sweet garnets inside.  Then covetously storing said garnets in a secret box.  I often want to ask people what they would be doing at this point in the summer at age 8-10.  For me, it's smashing rocks to harvest garnets.

I went to the mountain to try and mine gold

But lost my pickaxe on the way

And do you know how much pickaxes cost?

I don't, but I've nothing to pay

So I took a deep breath and I entered the mine,

Hoping to find me a jewel,

But busted up roots were all I could find,

I foolishly felt like a fool

Since things were all wrong,
I hummed by best song,

There's a silver lining

To all this ma-lining

I felt something crawling its way up my arm

A beautiful beetle vermillion

I dropped him off lightly, and picked up a stone

Older than me by the billions

Twas then that I realized the sum of my parts

And this is the point of my story

Down in the depths of a dusty old mine

I silently struck a satori.

And I left without gold and I left without jewels

My mining sack sad and berefted

But on my way home I found my pickaxe

Right in the spot I had left it. 

Plovers

They're a kind of bird, I think.  I don't know if black spotted ones are real.  I guess probably not.  Or maybe there's One.

My voice is so high and untuneful in this.  Here's lyrics so it's perhaps not so cringeworthy.

Don't say nothing, Francis,

Don't you even breathe,

Cause the last Black spotted plover

Is perched among the reeds

The rarest thing you'll ever see

Is right before our eyes

And it'll fly away

It'll fly away

It'll fly away

In time

Don't say nothing, Francis

Ain't this moment grand

The last Black spotted plover

roosting in the sand

The only one we'll ever see

In our entire lives

And it'll fly away

It'll fly away

It'll fly away

In time

Oh darling

Why do you feel bad

Oh darling

How are you so sad

Oh darling

Why can't you just see

 The last black spotted plover

With me

I know about Pathfinder

I just think this one is way cooler, and way worthier of a song.

I remember when Pathfinder went to Mars; I was beyond psyched.  This is much, much more neat.  I also saw a really neat bug yesterday(?); perhaps it will be the image for my next song (about cool bugs???).

Where are you supposed to look

When recording a video song?  I think I tried all the places.