From: ssamgree@NObigSPAMpond.net.au   
      
   I woke to the sounds of little feet running. As the sun rose high in the   
   sky. Another day of getting fore filled in my lot, and still more bills   
   mounting. Last night what seems a world away? I was singing my heart out, to   
   the bleeding heart strings of my song. In the famous 36 track recording   
   studio, on my beloved famous French Hill of this my mind. The enlightenment   
   of reviewing again and again, what's being put down and trying to get it   
   right. Made this my heart, skip a beat. You call this a living? It's more   
   like an occupation, keeping in time to sounds of my fellow musicians.   
   Laughing, singing, and dancing in swing of it. I could have done better. I   
   could have been a truck driver on an endless highway. With a load of red   
   ripe tomato sandwiches, bound for a concert of Frank Zapper, in the month of   
   June, as a full moon approaches. Only crying out, does anyone have a   
   toaster? A toaster, anyone? I need a toaster.  Second hand, or new, it does   
   matter. As a passing comment from the crowd, you mean a coaster, for your   
   drink. As the car goes over another pot hole, on this road of life. A few   
   sunrises, sunsets, for about three months, give or take a year. God willing   
   this will album be finished on time. Here I am in this another great Monday   
   morning, just wishing that I could drink this mug before it's time to open.   
   Another day under a southern sky   
      
   Kind regards,   
      
   Sam http://www.MrMusicman.com   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)