Photograph

A set of musings from Ethel Falkenberg

At which hour i bethink backeth
on all the alas i learn’d
t’s a wond’r
i can bethink at all
and though mine own want of education
hasn’t did hurt me none
i can readeth the writing on the mure
kodachrome
those gents giveth us those nice bright col’rs
those gents giveth us the greens of summ’rs
maketh thee bethink all the w’rld’s a sunny day
i did get a nikon cam’ra
i loveth to taketh a photographeth
so mama taketh not mine own kodachrome hence
if ‘t be true thee tooketh all the girls i kneweth
at which hour i wast single
and hath brought those folk all togeth’r f’r one night
i knoweth those gents’d nev’r matcheth
mine own sweet imagination
ev’rything looks w’rse in black and white
kodachrome
those gents giveth us those nice bright col’rs
those gents giveth us the greens of summ’rs
maketh thee bethink all the w’rld’s a sunny day
i did get a nikon cam’ra
i loveth to taketh a photographeth
so mama taketh not mine own kodachrome hence

ev’ry timeth i seeth thy visage
t reminds me of the places we hath used to wend
but all i’ve did get is a photographeth
and i realizeth thou art not coming backeth anym’re
i bethought i’d maketh t
the day thee wenteth hence
but i can’t maketh t
till thee cometh home again to stayeth
i can’t receiveth hath used to living h’re
while mine own heart is hath broken, mine own drops of sorrow i caterwauling f’r thee
i wanteth thee h’re to has’t and holdeth
as the years wend by, and we groweth fusty and grizzled
anon thou art expecting me to liveth without thee
but yond’s not something yond i’m looking f’rward to
i can’t receiveth hath used to living h’re
while mine own heart is hath broken, mine own drops of sorrow i caterwauling f’r thee
i wanteth thee h’re to has’t and holdeth
as the years wend by, and we groweth fusty and grizzled
ev’ry timeth i seeth thy visage
t reminds me of the places we hath used to wend
but all i’ve did get is a photographeth
and i realizeth thou art not coming backeth anym’re

I’m out a luck, out a loveth
gotta photographeth, picture of
passion killeth’r, thou art too much
thou art the only one i wanteth to toucheth
i seeth thy visage ev’ry timeth i dreameth
on ev’ry page, ev’ry magazine
so wild and free so far from me
thou art all i wanteth, mine own figure
oh, behold what thee’ve done to this rocketh ‘n’ rolleth clown
oh oh, behold what thee’ve done
photographeth i wanteth not thy
photographeth i needeth not thy
photographeth all i’ve did get is a photographeth
but t’s not enow
i’d beest thy lov’r, if ‘t be true thee w’re th’re
putteth thy did hurt on me, if ‘t be true thee dareth
such a mistress, thee did get style
thee maketh ev’ry sir feeleth liketh a issue, oh
thee did get some kinda holdeth on me
thou art all wrapp’d up in myst’ry
so wild so free and far from me
thou art all i wanteth, mine own figure
oh, behold what thee’ve done to this rocketh ‘n’ rolleth clown
oh oh, behold what thee’ve done
i gotta has’t thee
photographeth i wanteth not thy
photographeth i needeth not thy
photographeth all i’ve did get is a photographeth
thee’ve gone straight to mine own headeth
oh, behold what thee’ve done to this rocketh ‘n’ rolleth clown
oh oh, behold what thee’ve done
i gotta has’t thee
i wanteth to toucheth thee

Loving can did hurt, loving can did hurt oft
but t’s the only thing yond i knoweth
at which hour t gets hard, thee knoweth t can receiveth hard oft
t is the only thing maketh us feeleth alive
we keepeth this loveth in a photographeth
we madeth these mem’ries f’r ourselves
wh’re our eyes art nev’r closing
hearts art nev’r broken
and timeth’s f’rev’r frozen still
so thee can keepeth me
inside the pocket of thy ripp’d jeans
holding me clos’r ’til our eyes meeteth
thee wonneth’t ev’r beest high-lone, waiteth f’r me to cometh home
loving can healeth, loving can mendeth thy soul
and t’s the only thing yond i knoweth, knoweth
i gage ’twill receiveth easi’r
rememb’r yond with ev’ry piece of thee
hm, and t’s the only thing we taketh with us at which hour we kicketh the bucket
hm, we keepeth this loveth in this photographeth
we madeth these mem’ries f’r ourselves
wh’re our eyes art nev’r closing
hearts w’re nev’r broken
and timeth’s f’rev’r frozen still
so thee can keepeth me
inside the pocket of thy ripp’d jeans
holding me clos’r ’til our eyes meeteth
thee wonneth’t ev’r beest high-lone
and if ‘t be true thee did hurt me
yond’s well enow baby, only w’rds bleedeth
inside these pages thee just holdeth me
and i won’t ev’r alloweth thee wend
waiteth f’r me to cometh home
oh, thee can fiteth me
inside the necklace thee did get at which hour thee w’re sixteen
next to thy heartbeat wh’re i shouldst beest
keepeth t deep within thy soul
and if ‘t be true thee did hurt me
well, yond’s well enow baby, only w’rds bleedeth
inside these pages thee just holdeth me
and i won’t ev’r alloweth thee wend
at which hour i’m hence, i shall rememb’r how thee did kiss me
und’r the lamppost backeth on sixth street
hearing thee whisp’r through the phoneth
“wait f’r me to cometh home”

Ethel pictures are actually of Grace Ghanem

Songs are blatantly copied lyrics from the following 3 songs, in order, and then fed into a translator.

Kodachrome from Paul Simon
Photograph from Ringo Starr
Photograph from Def Leppard
Photograph from Ed Sheeran

Copyrights held by above artists- just wanted to have some fun with Ethel’s love of photography.