Summer plays to the beat of a bamboo drum,
I pick up my guitar, some old songs I strum.
So much has gone but there’s more to come.
Water is fine, keep your wine and your pirate rum.
I just want to get to this tune I sometimes hum,
and forget the silent sway of the pendulum.
Woodwind notes float on synthesizer strains,
and no one really minds what the gambler gains.
Memory of mud says it often rains.
Gold of the sun means true wealth, so no child complains.
I remember those long walks down those country lanes,
the pleasure in the fields, the love that never wanes.
He found the chords on his guitar,
joined a band and became a star.
Bells that chime are the same that toll,
still he loved his time in rock and roll.
One man held all the cards, no one seemed to mind.
They slipped into sunshine, other games to find.
The man with the cards said: Are you blind?
They said: You devised the game. And left him behind.
He thought: Did he want to win just to be unkind?
Did he want to eat all the fruit, even the rind?
Summer stay in my play when you let autumn come.
Let me still hear your beat on a bamboo drum.
So much was lost, cannot count the sum.
Keep me in line with your wine and your pirate rum.
I just want to set my love to a tune that I can hum,
not regret the silent sway of the pendulum.