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A time in my life, a record of myself An accurate sketch of perfect health A roof on my head, shoes on my feet Plenty of room, plenty to eat Been very far, made lots of friends And I love my mother, hope to see her again I'm a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me I laugh often so, I suppose, I'm going to be fine And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing." And that's all we do, we just write and play and write and play and write and "Here, here, and here." He pointed to his heart and mind and ears He said, "Here, here, and here." He pointed to his heart and mind and ears "Here, here, and here." He pointed to his heart and mind and ears He said, "Here, here, and here." He pointed to his heart and mind and ears And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing." ("Here, here, and here.") (He pointed to his heart and mind and ears) And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing." ("Here, here, and here.") (He pointed to his heart and mind and ears) And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing." ("Here, here, and here.") (He pointed to his heart and mind and ears) And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing." ("Here, here, and here.") (He pointed to his heart and mind and ears) |
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