why people walk
If it's not a hymn, my first record, Groovy Kind of Love, The Mindbenders. I think so. It reminds me of Kathy. It was her song; it reminded her of a guy called Jeff. Or maybe it should be Her Hair Was Yellow. Don't know the singer but you can find out, yes? It went: Her hair was yellow, her eyes were blue, her heart was golden, her love was true. I brought her sorrow and broke her heart in two; farewell sweet yellow hair and eyes of blue. She was Christine, we were eleven, twelve, something like that. I used to lie on the copper roof of the church opposite her house, waiting for her parents to go out, then we'd (I always had Tim with me as Christine used to be his girl) - we'd go over, listen to 45s on her Dansette. I thought Christine was pretty then, but when they put me in the children's home we lost touch. Years later I saw her. She'd developed some spinal deformity which twisted her across her chest and down as if she was trying to put her elbow on the opposite knee. Maybe Oh Carol (I am but a fool). She was the bigger sister of Robert, the mate who tried to drown me. We stopped in our back garden in a tent and she oozed some utter secret I could only sense swelling from inside me, dark and monstrous because it was too powerful while uncertain. Nothing happened but I learned night and proximity had meaning. Let's slow up. On the Street Where You Live? My father sang that in a voice I thought was full of soul, rich and beery. Volare? I remember that too, but if the memories are correct, dad was always walking - away, to me, I'm not sure, but I never heard show songs, never heard Perry Como sung to me. This might matter. Right now I don't know. Catch a falling star and put-it-in-your-pock-et; Save it for a rainy day - I remember, just, the man himself, Italian American - my father said he was only five foot tall - good teeth, smile, all fuzzed out on a black and white TV. The vertical hold was bad, always slipping, slow, fast. There was one rate you could watch where Perry slipped, slurped, slowly, into two pieces, then one again. A taller singer would have been hard to watch. < 2 > There's a Big Country song - title? - but it goes: Oh Lord, where did the feeling go? Oh, Lord, I ain't ever felt so low.