international friend, Tobba Deeba Doba

Many of my songs never got past stage three. Here's one of them:

The Fackamilly Sea

Toe,
Tobba Deeba Doba,
Collate a paper for the fetus
Who would read us Theaetetus
By the Bay of Bobba Nooba Nominee.

So,
Winnie was a Greco.
Get some Caesar wit' the feta
'Fore ya mail the lucky letter
Down to Greta on the Fackamilly Sea.

Say,
Gotta add a minus.
Kierkegaardin' from the sinus
With a sack of Saint Aquinas
By the Bay of Bobba Nooba Nominee.

Eat
Zingers for the Zyla.
Hide a Dinger in the collar.
Hear a Haydn, Bach, or Mahler.
Read a Zola for the fate of fugues in me.

On the Fackamilly Sea,
Bobba Nooba Nominee
Fed the bay that writ for me
The lucky letter led alee.
On a boat about to flee
From single soft soliloquy,
I couldn't think or speak to thee
Or even glean from good
That's better put.
And yet, it's meant to be.

--------------Keddiz

new demo released

The Game of the Criss-Cross

You and I lost
The game of the criss-cross.
Our corpus is down
Lyin' at the Ground Round,
Covered in steak sauce.

The bowling alley life, it's time to sell.
The ball, it can't be shined.
My thumb, too sore.
Here we go:
You give a wink. I'll add the tiddley.

We were murdered
By good sense's burglar
Who had hid in a drawer
And slept in our corridor.
It isn't unheard of.

The bowling alley life-job, it's time to leave.
The pizza boat is up.
The shoes are in.
Turn away.
You wink and nod.
I've got your tiddley.

Promises were kept
From taking the good step.
Stumbling again,
The foot of the high price
Hadn't a sales rep.

The dishes' dirt, it's there for good.
So is the rust upon the rest of it.
No more fight.
You shrug and sigh. No more to mention.

We could once pause
The game that we've since lost.
We'd look at our wristwatch,
Give it a pish-posh,
And pick up the dishcloth.

The dishes' dirt, it's there for good.
The cup in the center,
Just enough room.
Our turn comes now.
You give a wink. I'll add the tiddley.

--Keddiz