In reading, a lonely quiet concert is given to our minds; all our mental faculties will be present in this symphonic exaltation.
Stéphane Mallarmé
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Mama You Been on My Mind
Perhaps itÚFFFF92s the color of the sun cut flat
and coverin' the crossroads IÚFFFF92m standing at
or maybe itÚFFFF92s the weather or something like that
but mama you been on my mind
I do not mean you trouble, donÚFFFF92t put me down, donÚFFFF92t get upset
I am not pleadinÚFFFF92 or sayinÚFFFF92 I canÚFFFF92t forget you
I do not pace the floor, bowed down and bent, but yet
mama you been on my mind
Even thoÚFFFF92 my eyes are hazy
and my thoughts they might be narrow
where you been donÚFFFF92t bother me, or bring me down with sorrow
I donÚFFFF92t even mind where you be wakinÚFFFF92 up tomorrow
but mama you been on my mind
IÚFFFF92m not asking you to say words like yes or no
Please understand me, IÚFFFF92ve no place IÚFFFF92m calling you to go
IÚFFFF92m just whisperinÚFFFF92 to myself so I can pretend that I donÚFFFF92t know
Mama you been on my mind
When you wake up in the morninÚFFFF92 baby, look inside your mirror
you know I wonÚFFFF92t be next to you, you know I wonÚFFFF92t be near
IÚFFFF92d just be curious to know if you can see yourself as clear
as someone who has had you on his mind
As someone who has had you on his mind
Mama you been on my mind