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Finale
We have A Major problem.
I’m sorry that my voice does not run on harmonics
Nor do my facial features have fine tuners
But time after time
You repeat the same complaint:
“Why can’t you be more feminine?”
Well let me tell you.
I want every woman to B Natural
Because in this world, you either C Sharp
Or go blind.
She can slur her thoughts,
Change to impress her man
But I will stand and enunciate.
Feel my violins vibrato through your veins.
I want to see you tremolo in fear
And don’t you dare say that I’m sonata girl
Because I have the Heart and Soul to be whatever I want to be
You used to make my internal metronome beat
But measure our love now.
It has decresendoed to a pianissimo.
So give it a rest.
And sustenuto this:
It’s over, ritard.