I’m a sweet voice,

I’m a big commission,

I’m composer’s choice,

I’m a fresh rendition,

A grand premier, a higher sphere, a call for more,

A Caruso, a gracious nod, a last encore,

A curtain call, a concert hall, a latest thing, a star―

I can’t say where we are,

You’re all that I can sing.

I’m a low fade, I’m a moonlight anthem,

I’m a serenade, I’m a faster rhythm,

A fleeting scale, a nightingale, a violin,

A crescendo, a quiet trill, a stroke of sin,

A quicker theme, a dancer’s dream, a sound of spring, guitars― I can’t say where we are,

You’re all that I can sing.

I’m a church bell, I’m an old Vienna,

I’m Henry Purcell, I’m a new antenna,

A major chord, a critic floored, a colder lip,

An Apollo, a Dryden, a baton tip,

A Christmas mass, a trumpet blast, a heavenly ring, a bar―

I can’t say where we are,

You’re all that I can sing.

I’m a sore throat, I’m a lighter motif,

I’m a longish note, I’m a tremulous belief,

I’m second chair, I’m an empty air, I’m a lyre,

A libretto, a refrain, a lonely choir, A silly trick, arithmetic, a broken string, a jar―

I can’t say where we are,

You’re all that I can sing.