Robot In The Rain

If I had a robot that could play violin
I bet that robot could open an umbrella.
I would never hire a young woman or fella
to carry my umbrella when the rains begin

but a robot is just motors and gears that spin
and I don’t think I’d feel like a male Cruella
if a robot kept the rain off my medulla
when it didn’t have a fiddle under its chin.

I’d still play music with my mechanical man.
I’d come inside, dry, from walking in the real rain
and with my wet robot put on a little show.

With me playing synthesizer the best I can,
Molly Malone’s pretty ghost would sing her refrain,
selling cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



Clockwork Musicians


Der Gelbe Hai


Tricky Times



“Now I Dream Of The Plum Rains”



Headphones And Crucibles



Sharks In Shoes


Molly Malone Redux



Three Clouds Overhead Started Shouting At Me