Talk about a low-key weekend.
Here are the first lines to fourteen songs taken at random from my vast collection and spaced as if to form an illiterate's idea of a surreal sonnet.
Here we are in New South Wales, shearing sheep as big as whales.
I'm an American, boys, I come a long way; I was born and bred in the U.S.A.
There's a world outside, and I know 'cause I've heard talk.
When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace.
Old John Robertson, he wore a Stetson hat.
Workin' late, about half-past eight.
When I come into Portland town, there was little Miss Grady to show me around.
There has been a spacecraft sighted, flying high above the sky.
You, you never looked so good, sipping life down like I wish I could.
They used to call it Sin City, now it's gone way past that.
The news is out all over town that you've been seen out running 'round.
Now this could only happen to a guy like me.
And it comes in waves; I just keep telling myself things are bound to change.
Everyone's trying to decide where to go when there's no place to hide.