STEVE GELLER, MUSICIAN
My 2016 Album: Place Very Central
All songs written and recorded by Steve Geller. Some late-stage mixing by David Pullin. Mastered by David Pullin.
The songs on this album originate from several different periods of my life. Guillaume’s chorus was perhaps written around 1986, though I don’t remember exactly how or when the song came into my consciousness (there is a slight chance that it is a case of cryptomnesia), and the current verses were written in 2005 when the chorus popped back into my head after years of latency. Candle Light can be traced back in some form to 1989, though didn’t begin to take its current lyrics until 1997 or its current shape until 2010. First Connection was also written in 1997, in pretty much its current form. Over 625 Puzzles was written for the group The Radical Manacle in 2005, around the same time as Sure No developed as a joke song idea, though this latter song wasn’t fully fleshed out until 2013. Tom, The Soup Can Shooting Cowboy is a 2010 sequel to a song written in 1989 (Tom, The Mosquito Shooting Cowboy), though the “ah” chorus was lifted from a now-defunct song idea from 2001. I Got a Fever and One Side of the Window were each composed in the summer of 2012, and 4 songs (My Dearest Bridgette, Can You Hear Me?, Reminded of Georgia and Purple Doors) were each written entirely in 2013, though Reminded of Georgia is a commentary on Hoagy Carmichael’s “Georgia on my Mind,” which dates back to 1930.
As usual for my work, perhaps both to a credit and a fault, many different genres are showcased on this album, from the “cowboy opera” style of Tom, The Soup Can Shooting Cowboy to the atonal-ish punk of Sure No, to the ska of Over 625 Puzzles, to the unironic jazz effort that is Reminded of Georgia. Can You Hear Me? channels Michael McDonald, Guillaume channels the Beatles, Purple Doors channels Elvis Costello, and One Side of the Window channels Coldplay.
As I continue to write new material for future releases, I am very proud of the way in which my musical and production style has developed in the realization of this album. The songs are recorded entirely in GarageBand with my live voice and accompanying MIDI instruments (and preset drum loops or samples in certain cases). I wrote the music and lyrics to all of the songs. David Pullin mastered the work and did some of the late-stage mixing, and special thanks for helpful constructive criticism and advice go to David Cohen, Tom Dotan, Sal Morales and Jeremy Borum.
The title of the album refers to a line in the song First Connection. The cover art's principal message is about the experiences of several time periods in one's life, and how they can coalesce toward a single central effort. And the bookends of the text are purple doors, which relate to the album's 11th song, one of my favorite works thus far in my career.
PURCHASE: The album can be purchased on iTunes and at Amazon, among other places. Some low-rent videos of some of the songs can be seen on the “Some of my Songs, part I” page of this site.
1. I Got a Fever
2. Candle Light
3. My Dearest Bridgette
4. Can You Hear Me?
5. Sure, No
6. One Side of the Window
7. Tom, the Soup Can Shooting Cowboy
8. Guillaume
9. Reminded of Georgia
10. First Connection
11. Purple Doors
12. Over 625 Puzzles
About the Songs
“I Got a Fever,” is a politically-tinged send-up of American culture, featuring references to Elvis, the Monkees, Peggy Lee and Christopher Walken, all amid the narrative of a country in decline. I was trying to sound a bit like Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in the way I sang the voices during the chorus.
“Candle Light” was an idea in my mind as early as 1989, when I wrote what would eventually morph into the “out-chorus” of this recording (starting at about 4:19). The verses were written in 1997, though some of the words and the entire chord structure was revamped in 2010, until finally being tweaked again in 2013 into this current version. The music is rather rhapsodic in feel, beginning in a sort-of new wave Depeche Mode feel, then quickly becoming Billy Joel-esque as the piano and bass enter, then moving toward a Phil Spectre Wall of Sound feel. In the second verse, the build-up sounds a bit like Neil Diamond and a bit like Meat Loaf, and the climax in the bridge channels a hint of Sly and the Family Stone (at least to my ears).
“My Dearest Bridgette,” unlike several songs of mine that grow from the middle outward, began with the idea from the first two lines (“the four corners of the world are Santiago, Seattle, Shanghai and Seville”), and the rest of the song wrote itself fairly quickly. Once I had found a few sets of cities that were far away from one another in geography and culture, and that started with the same letters, I began to craft the rest of the lyrics around those letters (doubt, diffidence, dark despair for the D cities, raven so ravishing for the R cities, kind and caring for the K-sound cities). The waltzy feel is evocative of a ship sailing away.
“Can You Hear Me?” bristles with movement and energy, and is thus one of my favorite songs to listen to while traveling. The “bass” voice in the choruses was achieved with pitch-shifting and various filters. I had long wanted to do a sleek “grown-up”-sounding song, and I think this might be it. Michael McDonald is an inspiration here.
“Sure No”’s refrain began as a joke, poking fun at songs that use puns as their main thematic device. The plan of my singing “Sure. No!” in consecutively rising keys dates all the way back to 2005, though the bulk of the song wasn’t written until 2013. Yet in order to match the original concept, the song intentionally avoids defining any particular key as much as possible. “Crush me like a bug on a windshield, catch me like a fly in the outfield” and “Carve me into holes like a Swiss cheese, crave me like I give you the munchies” are among my favorite original lyrics.
“One Side of the Window” is an offshoot of a song I had written somewhere around 1993 about a bitter person faking his own death so that the people who had scorned him recently would be forced to grieve for him, and he could take tabs on who was the most sincere in doing so. It was sort of half-comedy, half darkly serious, but I never finished it, and doubt that the lyrics exist in written form anywhere at this time. Revamped into a song about guilt and the desire to hear one’s friends speak loving and forgiving eulogies, this is a far superior effort, in my opinion.
“Tom, the Soup Can Shooting Cowboy” takes nearly the same name as a 1989 song of mine called “Tom, the Mosquito Shooting Cowboy,” and was originally an attempt to revamp that silly song (about a cowboy that shot mosquitos out of the annoyance of them biting him). I had always wanted to do something like Lorne Greene’s “Ringo,” an old-timey cowboy story song, and as this idea developed, I incorporated a snippet of a joke song I had written in 2001 as the “ah” chorus. I did not have an ending for the plot until the song’s final line dawned on me one morning (after having written the first 3/4 of the song already). So it went from what was originally expected to be a climactic duel ending to a shaggy dog story, but I am happier with it this way.
“Guillaume” is a song that I remember singing to myself (the chorus, anyway) when I first started shaving at about age 13. I don’t remember when I wrote the song (or, frankly, if I wrote it at all), though I definitely wrote several songs before this point in my life, and I probably heard the name Guillaume in a French class, and maybe someone said it in a sing-songy manner, and thus it was born. The lyrics to the verses were written in 2005. One of the things I enjoy about the song is the fact that the verse, chorus, and bridge have the same melody, so in essence it is just a single verse repeated 12 times, yet the key changes and instrumental flourishes make it seem as though the material keeps moving forward. This is the second song I have written (the other being The Etymology of Shirt) that has intentionally channeled the Beatles’ “Dig a Pony.”
“Reminded of Georgia” was created as an exercise during a composition of mine. The exercise was to take a famous song, switch around the sections and write a new melody to the resulting new chord structure. We chose “Georgia On My Mind,” then put the bridge of the song (“Other arms reach out to me”) first, and made the A-section (“Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through”) the new bridge, and then to provide an example of what I was looking for, I wrote the melody that became Reminded of Georgia. The lyrics were written weeks later, and intentionally evoke the lyrics of “Georgia On My Mind.” I decided to slow down the tempo to sing the head because I wasn’t feeling the lushness of the lyrics at the faster tempo, and the instrumental jazz wasn’t moving like I wanted it to at the slower tempo. I’m trying to sound a bit like Mel Tormé here.
“First Connection” was written in 1997 along with several other songs for a recording project. It was originally intended as an a cappella song, but the bass was too low for me to record myself, and it wasn’t the most intuitive part, so I couldn’t convince friends of mine to record it. Originally, the song had several additional “backup lyrics” that the a cappella voices would have sung, but I opted to decline this choice in the newer, brassier version that I recorded. There is a bit of Billy Joel’s “Easy Money” in the inspiration for this song.
“Purple Doors” was the final song written for Place Very Central. Inspired by a Facebook post from a friend (about the notable number of purple doors in Needham, Massachusetts), the song playfully and poetically suggests many possible reasons for this phenomenon. There is a touch of Elvis Costello in both the lyrics and melody, and the harmony vocals at the ends of the verses suggest a bit of Eric Clapton.
“Over 625 Puzzles” comes from an actual pen-and-paper puzzle book, with this advertisement on the front cover. I figured that if it had said “Over 600 Puzzles,” the number of actual puzzles could have been from 601 to 670, but “Over 625 puzzles” probably meant 626, since it was such a specific number. This reminded me of countless TV ads that attempted to up-sell products by saying things like “And more!,” when there was virtually nothing more that they were offering. Ironically, I am currently (as of the Spring of 2016) the editor of a book of puzzles, which doubles as a treasure hunt, and there are several hundred puzzles in the book, so my song has in some way come to life (although when we say “and many more” in our ads, we really do mean it.) The Mighty Mighty Bosstones’ “The Impression That I Get” is somewhat of an inspiration for this song.
Lyrics
I Got a Fever
102, 103. Peggy Lee’s got nothin’ on me. The body shivers, the muscles ache. And I don’t know when it’s gonna break.
Ain’t just another common cold, something else has taken hold And I’m not sure how to find the cure, but it might be hard to swallow.
The doctors, well, they try to diagnose me, with conventional wisdom mostly. But they always come up empty. Don’t they?
I got a fever and my head keeps getting warmer Like the sidewalk in the summer beneath the feet of the street performer on the corner.
But I’m a believer. It’ll all be fine in the morning If I can live my life in freedom, and dream of a new day dawning. Oh, I’m a believer. Oh, I got a fever.
Mercury rising, thermometer perspiring. I need to rest, a cold compress. But it doesn’t alleviate the warmness.
Newspaper says “it’s all downhill,” if you can even find one to read it still, and I can’t say when it’ll go away, but it’ll be a hot one tomorrow.
The doctors, well, they try and reassure me, but they can’t find a way to cure me of the plight of an aimless country before me.
I got a fever and the prescription is not more cowbell, Though that would be pretty awesome if a sound could make you feel well. But oh well.
I’m a believer. In the morning my head’ll stop spinning If I can live my life in freedom, and dream of a new beginning. Oh, I’m a believer. Oh, I got a fever.
The doctors, well, they try to make it better. They say “just stop trying, and accept her.” But it won’t relieve the pressure forever.
I got a fever. I’m a hunk-a, hunk-a burning cooties Like when Elvis left the army to make 30 terrible movies. How groovy.
But I’m a believer, the medicine don’t come in a bottle I gotta live my life in freedom, in a true American model. And look ahead to tomorrow.
(Then I saw her face), Oh, I’m a believer. Oh, I got a fever.
Candlelight
Another sleepless night. That’s four nights out of six. Just waiting for the phone to ring
And though there’s barely any light, a pair of candlesticks is all I need to see everything.
I know I hurt your feelings with my wild allegations. I know I sent you running away from me
I know I suffer from an overactive imagination. How protracted a shortcoming is my jealousy
And a jealous mind can do so much. Can make a mountain out of dust. But I can only apologize, and “Sorry” isn’t good enough.
I have to get some sleep. But visions cloud my brain of sunlight dancing in your hair.
So innocent and sweet, so vulnerable to pain. I’ll save you from his devious stare.
I know I have trouble dealing with these self-styled fabrications of some ravishing Valentino closing for the kill.
I know I shouldn’t succumb to the hazards of accusation, but I can’t control my ego, and I falter still.
(Let me give you an example) I can see you in his arms at the subway station. I reach my hands out but they get no closer
I’m a lonely man and I just can’t bear to see his arms surround you and his eyes unwrap you
And I know your letters tell me not to worry. They say “I’m the one,” (4x) but I still get wary
And a jealous mind works day and night to satisfy its appetite. But I can only apologize and sit here in the candlelight.
And if I’m still too blind to see, or if that light’s too bright for me, until I find humility, I gotta sit here in the candlelight.
And if that light’s too bright for me, or if I’m still too blind to see, until I find civility, I gotta sit here in the candlelight.
And if I’m still too blind to see, or if that light’s too bright for me, until I find tranquility, I’m gonna sit here in the candlelight.
My Dearest Bridgette
I’ve searched the four corners of the world. Santiago, Seattle, Shanghai and Seville
For a woman as sweet as my dearest Bridgette, but I never did find her and I prob’ly never will.
‘Twas a journey of doubt and of diffidence, through Dublin and Dehli, Des Moines and Dubai
I was in dark despair, when Bridgette saw me there, but she saved me, and she craves me, and I do not know why.
One would think I had volumes to pen, all the places I’ve been, but such tales grow weary and thin.
They would barely compel but a soul to applaud. Not in Rio or Rome or Riyadh.
But I’ve one thing to show, and it’s wonderful. So kind, so caring, and I can’t understand
How I ever survived without Bridgette by my side, through Cairo, through Quito, Canberra and Cannes.
If you’d given me odds that were good, knocked on Bristlecone wood, I’d still wager that I never could
Find a raven so ravishing, rarer than anything, ready to fly me back home. Back from Rio, Riyadh and from Rome.
And to the explorers of the world, who search through the cities for something sublime
I do wish the best, may your journey be blessed. But as for Bridgette and I, well I think that we’ll sleep in this time.
Can You Hear Me?
It’s more than windy, it’s more than rain. It’s some kind of flash hurricane The road is risky. Falling debris. And mine is the only car I can see.
My obsession, it growls like the engine through each intersection. T’ward my destination, woh-oh.
You’re so unbelievably... You make me so eager to see... You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
And I gotta get next to you. Ain’t even a question of who... You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
It’s dark and chilly, a devil breeze. No good comes outta nights like these. Abandoned city. It’s for the best. We ain’t even seen this flood’s rainiest.
Losing traction from the tires that are splashin’ out the puddle’s reflections. No hesitation, woh-oh.
And I gotta go faster here. Get to the moment, I just have to be near... You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
Your love is so scandalous. Don’t even know if I can handle this bliss... You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
This is a different level. Makes me boil like a kettle. Pedal to the metal, baby So much danger. So much peril, but you’re never gonna slow me down. Can you hear me?
I’m so fascinated, honey. You got me running all of the reds You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
This could be my last stand, baby. Determination’s gotta count for somethin’ You are, you are, you are, you are, can you hear me?
And if I don’t pull through, baby, you might hear me on the wind, calling for you. Can you hear me?
Sure, No
I ask you out and you say “sure.” I ask you out and you say “no.” You don’t remember what you said before. Sure, no, sure, no, sure, no, ‘cause you sure don’t know.
You say you want me out on the floor. And then you tell me that you just wanna go. And then you wanna stick around for more. Sure, no, sure, no, sure, no, ‘cause you sure don’t know.
Crush me like a bug on a windshield. Catch me like a fly in the outfield. She loves me, she loves me not. While all the | space is gettin’ taken in the parking lot.
And she says “Baby, I ain’t losin’ sleep. So chill out and go with the flow.” But still I ask if I’m a cut or a keep. Oh, sure, no, sure, no, sure, no, ‘cause you sure don’t know.
Sure, you sure don’t know. Everyone seeing me, step forward. Not so fast, you!
Carve me into holes like a Swiss cheese. Crave me like I give you the munchies She loves me. She loves me not. And then she smiles like she doesn’t give a second thought.
I think you’re hot like a nuclear core. I think you’re cold like a silo in snow. But are you gonna press that button for war? Sure, no, sure, no, sure, no, ‘cause you sure don’t know.
‘Cause you sure don’t know. I ask you out, and you only ignore. So I go out, but you whisper “Hello.” So I go in, but you show me the door.
One Side of the Window
Everybody wants to fake their own death, and listen to themselves being talked about by friends. ‘Cause though they’re sad, still no one speaks ill of the dead.
Doesn’t matter how your life was led. Doesn’t matter how you ended things with them. Good or bad, or so much more complicated.
On one side of the window, it’s cold, it’s raining. The world is fading into the night. On the other side of the window, it’s peaceful and white.
Everybody wants to hear what is said. We fear the day, but we secretly write that speech in our head. “He was kind, he left a better world behind.”
We all wanna be remembered unseen. Taking stock of our lives is as human as anything that we do. And we can always pretend that what they say is true.
On one side of the window, they keep coming to get you. They’ll never let you be satisfied. On the other side of the window, you can duck down and hide.
Don’t be sore at me, it’s only a little white lie. There’s much more to be happy for when you see I’m still alive.
Pacing round my room in despair. Certain things will always be too painful to bear. We’re fragile, and we live our lives in cozy denial.
Everybody wants to listen in, from the other side of the window. Everybody wants to listen in, from the other side of the window.
Tom, the Soup Can Shooting Cowboy
Tom was a mighty cowboy and he rode a mighty steed. He believed in grace and virtue, not in arrogance or greed.
His kids were little angels, his life was promising, but there was one thing, there’s always one thing.
Tom’s Daddy had been sheriff and he’d never lost a draw. The highwaymen would tremble ‘neath the long arm of the law.
And by his family’s pedigree, when Daddy packed it in, Tom was appointed the sheriff, the captain.
But in the years of watching from the wings, he’d never had to bring his finger to his trigger
In defense of his father, who’d always fit the need, so Tom was indeed a third-rate shooter.
He’d practice shooting soup cans and he’d miss them by a yard. His Dad made it look easy, why the Hell was this so hard?
The folks had never known that Tom was useless in a fight, but he knew someday they might, and he would be right.
The coast was always clear until the day the church bell rang to warn the town that Dirty Trace McCoy had brought his gang
And though there were a few in town who’d ridden by the side of his Dad, Tom knew this would be his ride.
But if he faced off, he knew that he’d be bested. The moment he was tested, his bullet wouldn’t lie and then
Trace McCoy would rampage through the town, leaving Tom & his men on the ground
But the more that he hemmed and he hawed, the worse his burden got. ‘Cause Trace remained undaunted, and Tom was still a lousy shot.
And this job had never been what he had wanted, but now he had to lead. And he lived by the cowboy’s creed. And his future wasn’t guaranteed.
Well, it wasn’t very pretty now that Trace controlled the day. He stole the women’s jewelry and he made the men obey.
The gang was living large, immersed in liquor from the bar. But finally, from afar…the glint of a sheriff’s star.
“Pardon, but y’all gon’ have to leave them thar premises.”
And Dirty Trace McCoy shot back a look of icy stone. ‘Twas nothing like a can of chicken broth or minestrone.
But Tom could feel the spirit of his father in the air, so he stood and he stared, right there in Town Square
Now the Old West was full of fallen cowboys who’d fought with peerless honor, but still wound up dead
And so Tom, knowing he’d never win a shootout with Trace and his posse, had the bartender poison them instead.
Guillaume
The leaf is on the tree The tree is in the field The field surrounds a school And in the school is Guillaume.
It’s almost 3 o’clock The clock is on the wall The wall contains some photographs, and one of them is Guillaume.
Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume They only say Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Go out and play, Guillaume.
A pickle relish jar Is lying in A bag The bag is on a stool Not put away by Guillaume.
The eggs are in The bowl The oven’s heating low The flour is sprinkled everywhere, including the clothes of Guillaume.
Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume They only know Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Go knead your dough, Guillaume.
And when he knows it’s time To board the plane to Rome To visit Auntie Josephine Whose sister’s son is Guillaume.
He never sheds a tear While he looks down at the fields Although they remind him of his school, and school is fun for Guillaume.
Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume We only see Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume He’s happy he is Guillaume.
Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume So take your bow, Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume Guillaume You’ve done it now, Guillaume!!
Reminded of Georgia
If there was a way I could speak to her, how could I convey nights of vacuous hours That in another life may have well been spent in the sweet company of Georgia
If there was a way I could sing to her, in a small café, serenade her with flowers, The words may yet be old, but the song would still be as sweet as candy.
Remembering time with her makes me smile, drinking wine, watching the moonlight shining through the pine
As though she’s above, I’m below, and we intertwine and dance in the shadow,
There may be no way I can be with her. She has gone away, and the sweet slowly sours. But in that old sweet song, I will be reminded and sleep peacefully.
First Connection
I play a mean hand of “seven card” if you deal me a queen, 'cause a lady is all that I’m missin’
I can pass to the shooting guard, who can nail from eighteen, but it don’t count, ‘cause the ref is whistlin’
Everybody’s got their own little battles, and the war has roundly dented my shield. Her attention is all that matters, but I’m still standin’ alone on the battlefield
There’s a moment of solace that can spring from defeat when you know when to surrender your station
You can give up the anger, you can turn down the heat and acceptance replaces frustration.
And I feel that I’ve exhausted my weapons and I can’t get myself into her life. So I admit I can’t make first connection and I lose
But still it gives me the blues. The feel of wasted potential If we had something to start from, we could have built something special
Instead it’s frozen my heart some in a place very central.
You know the fool’s only weakness is not knowing he’s weak. Their will to succeed overtakes them.
And I used to be like they were, ‘til I noticed the deceit iIn the moment there when nothing shakes them.
You can still hear a constant fear in their voices. You can see a sad fatigue in their eyes.
And with you in my sight, one more step and I break into pieces and disappear from view
And it never fails to make me blue. The total lack of direction Of staring into the blackness. Can’t even see my own reflection
Just goes to show my ineptness at making first connection. Yeah
So if I can’t remain in contention, then I don’t wanna play this game anymore, Oh no.
Cause in order to score, you must make first connection, and unless she changes the rules, It always give me the blues
You cannot say, cannot say, you cannot say to me: “I didn’t try to make the two of us happy,” yeah yeah. Makin’ first connection 7x
Purple Doors
There’s a lot of purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts. And if I could figure why, I’d be wiser than Confucius.
Is it only mere coincidence, the same painter did the lion’s share? Were his headphones rocking out to Prince? Did he have a radio on the front stair?
Or | maybe it was a show of solidarity, Painted for a local soldier who was medaled for his injury.
Or perhaps instead of warfare, it is love that they’re embracing As a symbol of equality for the fight that some are facing.
In a show of grand munificence, homes that say that you are welcome here To the soldier and the lovers, dash of color in this cold New England air.
The wintry season, we might need some spray to treat ‘em, There are many purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts.
There’s a lot of purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts. Perhaps it’s just rebellion, like peroxide for the brunettes.
Frustrated by a lot of things, or maybe just the economy Inflated in remembering the town once broke away from the nobility.
From kings who were ensconced in purple splendor Of a color like an amethyst martini in a blender
All these rules, they interfere with our individualism. Just this once, we shall display the underrated from the prism
As a sign that strict conformity might soon become habitual And be codified in normalcy, they must resist with a colorful ritual.
And that stale Town Council better join ‘em if they can’t beat ‘em. There are many purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts.
Maybe it’s as simple as it seems. Maybe purple paint is cheaper than the other color schemes.
Perhaps they grow a lot of crocuses, then accessorize with fuchsia, Between the lilacs and the lotuses that surround the wood veranda,
Might be fitting they would beautify, flush with mauve and with magenta. Quite an enigma.
There’s a lot of purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts. Did the families both draw straws when remodeling their duplex?
Inspired by the eminence of purple mountains majesty Or mired in extravagance, or shrouded in their magical mystery.
For love, for passion, for style, for guile, for freedom There are many purple doors here in Needham, Massachusetts. 2x
Over 625 Puzzles
This book has over 625 Puzzles in it. Enjoy!
I saw a two-minute movie preview that only lasted a minute thirty Seems it’s hard to find good value these days, even if you have a decent attorney.
And the movie starred Uma Thurman, and the preview could’ve been more flirty But still it showed ev’ry word, ev’ry twist, ev’ry turn, ev’ry detail of the story.
Over 625 puzzles prob’bly means 626 puzzles. See, that’s only one more than advertised for, but it’s sold as though it should be double.
And there’s over 200 separate countries, but only 10 have sufficient insurance But when the meat’s on the grill, and the wine starts to spill, it’s a matter of little importance.
You get a minuscule modicum extra, and you feel like you swindled the devil But over 625 puzzles--prob’bly still 626 puzzles.
How many words in the dictionary have the letter Z? More than you’d ever think, and yet less than you’ll ever see
Over 625 drummers may sound like a Hell of a racket But over 625 drummers is probably 626 drummers.