It is, is it just a room, just like many other
A simple carpet, bedspread, eiderdown cover
Carved tabled embraced with lace
Drawers for dressing, with lathe-turned legs
Listening to the Ironmonger’s Ball
Over the rolling, calling, windswept wall
It is, is it, just another room
Like, alike, alike many another
A space, stark, dark, dark turned light
Sounds escaping into a classical night
It’s a living, breathing, developing art
Fighting, fighting for its very future
In this room, towards Nirvana
A wind band, a wind band orchestra
Colours combining, harvesting in my mind
In this room, unlike that night
Unlike any other
