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On Angels and Messengers

Monday, April 5, 2010

I'VE GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO HER FACE


A Song from "MY STATE FAIR LADY"

One critic said, "If reviving one play is good, two at a time must be twice as good. Then again, if a play is awful ...
"IMAGINE PYGMALION WITH REAL PIGS"

Scene 2 -- The MIDWAY
A singing Barker named Henry

Piano Intro -- 4 measures

I’ve grown accustomed to her face
though she has whiskers on her chin,
and though her skin is like a prune’s,
her lips like a baboon’s --
Her squeals, her moans
her grunts, her groans
are second nature to me now
as she breathes out and she breathes in.

When I was working in a circus
patching tents before we met,
there I heard some workers
describing this brunette:
whose head they’d cover with a sheet
or else the elephants stampede --
unaccustomed to her face.
(repeat verse as harmonica interlude)

I’ve grown accustomed to her face
and to her foolish toothless grin.
I’ve gotten used to hear her say
(spoken) “Why'd all the elephants run away?”
Her squeals, her smell
The seals can tell.
It's second nature to them now,
as they breathe out and they breathe in.

Yet I’m so grateful for this woman
for she brought me lots of luck.
Folks line up to look at her
They pay me half a buck.
I’ve grown accustomed to the trace
of something in the air --
accustomed to her face.






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