Fermented on ice, on a rink
made of porcelain, in a dress made from velvet.
I had the holes in my gloves at the index finger.
I'd fall and I'd fall and land with surprise
to the exact beat that Sir Paul wrote
on that glacial night.
Alabama was made for the food and the sky,
but it changed us all that day.
The underdogs from the north, whom wore their hairs
pinned too tight.
So don't tell your children that they're made
only of gold.
And don't save your money for when the heats always cold because
all those lists that they'll then have.
Like some say in fortunes
all those horses that roam; will only pass by.
Get back to your children,
just teach them some notes, on the piano;
maybe some grammar and play them some soul.