|
Mr. tanner was a cleaner from a town in the Midwest |
|
And of all the cleaning shops around he'd made his the best |
|
But he also was a baritone who sang while hanging clothes |
|
He practiced scales while pressing tails and sang at local shows |
|
His friends and neighbors praised the voice |
|
That poured out from his throat |
|
They said that he should use his gift instead of cleaning coats |
|
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood |
|
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good |
|
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul |
|
He did not know how well he sang, it just made him whole |
|
His friends kept working on him to try music out full time |
|
A big debut and rave reviews, a great career to climb |
|
Finally they got to him, he would take the fling |
|
A concert agent in New York agreed to have him sing |
|
And there were plane tickets, phone calls, money spent to rent the hall |
|
It took most of his savings but he gladly used them all |
|
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood |
|
And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good |
|
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul |
|
He did not know how well he sang, it just made him whole |
|
The evening came, he took the stage, his face set in a smile |
|
And in the half filled hall the critics sat watching on the aisle |
|
But the concert was a blur to him, spatters of applause |
|
He did not know how well he sang, he only heard the flaws |
|
But the critics were concise, it only took four lines |
|
But no one could accuse them of being over kind |
|
Mr. Martin Tanner, baritone of Dayton, Ohio |
|
Made his town hall debut last night |
|
Be came well prepared, but unfortunately his presentation |
|
Was not up to contemporary professional standards |
|
His voice lacks the range of tonal color |
|
Necessary to make it consistently interesting |
|
Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order |
|
He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends |
|
Then he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again |
|
Excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed |
|
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes |
|
Music was his life, it was not his livelihood |
|
And it made him feel so happy, it made him feel so good |
|
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul |
|
And he did not know how well he sang, it just made him whole |