There's a song little babies sings
on the ease of mother's back;
even if none plays guitar's strings
The Soloing are oft loud and wack.



it's full of energy, brood and tense:
as a great artist would earnestly jump,
if hail by claps of thousand audience
and with the hands, they'd grasp up and up.



The air, and beats their legs together;
i believe them to see angels, they're angels
that fly upon their heavenly feathers
they know much musics, they're the church bells.



though i am always feeling hates,
if no one none the mother help the chorus.
to think that babies are illiterates,
and rather let the grooves down to pause.



But there's beauty in their songs,
if scholars would dump their books
wise men would learn to play gongs,
and the drumming be done by fools.