Sinkin' Soon

Sinkin' Soon - by Norah Jones

We're the oyster cracker on the stew, the honey in the tea
We're the sugar cubes, one lump or two, in the black coffee
The golden crust on the apple pie, shining in the sun at noon
We're the wheel of cheese high in the sky
But we're gonna be sinkin' soon

In a boat that's built of sticks and hay, we drifted from the shore
With a captain who's too proud to say that he dropped the oar
A tiny hole has sprung a leak in this cheap pontoon
Now the hull has started growing weak
And we're gonna be sinkin' soon

We're gonna be sinkin' soon, we're gonna be sinkin' soon
Everybody hold your breath and down and down we go

We're the oyster cracker on the stew, the honey in the tea
We're the sugar cubes, one lump or two, no thank you, none for me
We're the golden crust on the apple pie, shining in the sun at noon
We're the wheel of cheese high in the sky
But we're gonna be sinkin' soon

Ten Cents A Dance

"Ten Cents A Dance" - Rodgers & Hart

Lyrics:

I work at the Palace Ballroom, but gee that palace is cheap
When I get back to my chilly hallroom, I'm much too tied to sleep
I'm one of those lady teachers, a beautiful hostess you know
One that the Palace features at exactly a dime a throw

Ten cents a dance, that's what they pay me, gosh how they weigh me down
Ten cents a dance, pansies and rough guys, tough guys who tear my gown
Seven to midnight I hear drums; loudly the saxophone blows
Trumpets are tearing my ear drums; customers crush my toes

Sometimes I think I've found my hero, but it's a queer romance
All that you need is a ticket, come on big boy, ten cents a dance

Fighters and sailors and bow-legged tailors
Can pay for their tickets and rent me
Butchers and barbers and rats from the harbors
Are sweethearts my good luck has sent me
Though I've a chorus of elderly beaux
Stockings are porous with holes at the toes
I'm here till closing time, dance and be merry
It's only a dime

Sometimes I think I've found my hero, but it's a queer romance
All that you need is a ticket, come on big boy, ten cents a dance

A Minor Bird

"A Minor Bird" - by Robert Frost

I have wished a bird would fly away
And not sing round my house all day
I have clapped my hands at him, from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more

The fault must partly have been in me
The bird was not to blame, for his key
And besides there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.