The Piano Man's Money
I know the song. The words didn't click for me when music was the Empire State of mind. I did play piano before these dwindling word-soaked days. A synth in the middle bedroom has 64 keys. Good enough for sensual Bach. I wish I had a piano with 88 writhing keys, hot and loose. There are many free. I can barely move groceries and know few muscled lovers. There's hire it done, but wealth escapes me faster than honey scooped by a greedy remover attacked by bees.
Barry G. Wick