And all that jazz

It is time to sing, sing, sing. Make melodies that are intricate and soft and tear-stained. Harmonize with the laughter of 76 trombones or a piccolo or a pot and a wooden spoon. March in time to the beat of the drums that thud in your heart. Thrill to the sounds of your scatting soul. Note that most men go to the grave with the song still in them. I got the music in me. We can only dream a tune like this....if music be the food of love, play on.