# A piano duet



## Billy (Sep 24, 2011)

Hi,

This is different than my opera test run.






- Billy M.


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## Billy (Sep 24, 2011)

Here is the whole text, of which the song is a portion.

SEND THEM HOPE

By Billy McBride

Copyright 2019, by Billy McBride
All rights reserved.

SEND THEM HOPE

When the ice is done,
Falls then the bier,
The leaf has to widen
The distant bloom.

What has my poor tongue done?
My love’s presented,
A leaf upon the air,
Too much inspired me.

Coppice lot,
A place for the letters,
Where the fire was found,
I was starving to begin.

Time has the air
To wander when sure,
Trick of the hair,
A breeze that flew.

Final must the heavens be,
With a sympathy sought out,
I suffered for the truth,
There was air.

Closer to the drumbeat,
Would air into spirit,
A prayer for the homestead,
A red chariot.

Its falling cold,
The world was dying,
Of green fruit,
For what more shall the soul be influenced?

To put it upon your head,
It will widely please thee,
The sunlight had to go,
Neither of us was that wry.

Songbirds in the wood,
The empty branch,
To the drum’s own time,
There was a word.

A dewy lea,
What mountains have for us,
To shine upon the heights,
On the stage of the air.

If lost, I’ll walk,
A world too starves for it
In a prayer often babyish,
To brush your hair.

Of all the heavens,
That coppice and those trees,
True and full enough,
Dry out the door.

Imagine what the moth did,
Collapsing with science,
These acres have it all
In timeless reality.

There’s hope for readers,
To cry for their fields,
In our kingdom’s middle,
Whenever the glory is gained.

Build of our time,
We instruct the ghost,
One secures the sublime,
Some jolly wilderness.

Talk about a home!
The eyes of dew,
At every beautiful wedding,
Crying out for posey.

One of these grassy brooks,
With trees that sway,
I’m building up the emptiness,
Pale in the mid.

Nothing else is here but us,
I imagined the blast off,
Potted blossoms
At the mind’s gate.

Hear my lay,
When songbirds stop,
A rest on the hilltop,
Just barely a year.

Time for a harvest,
Master’s master,
We’re free to say so,
The birds’ adieu.

Our remarks were blocked
With another thunder,
Cut it out together,
Their years are overcast.

By a handsome handshake,
You finally shed your shadow,
A stranger’s Genius,
A dark bow.

From a baby into a child,
Blows through the sky,
The voice in the end,
To divest a couple more.

Our bony world,
That charter to note,
Afterlife and heaven,
When time breaks me down.

But welcome when on time,
Pride of the breeze,
Very much at home,
The spirit was blind.

To ride with those you love,
From moon to moon,
With pleasure to play,
And note that we are here.

Villains are forbidden here,
Only other spirits,
People who calm us,
Ready at the edge of it all.

That melancholic lay,
With private firepower,
There’s nothing in the distance,
Misty fount.

So Romantically easy,
As the flight has ended,
Our way to be well,
Alone and rich.

Loves waves us forward,
Back to our scholarship,
Of dearest worth to me,
Of a Paradise forgot.

For a drink of more life,
Summer daughter,
Send them hope,
With their widest televisions.

Empty the dark,
Hilltop butterflies,
See the matin,
It is to gain the sunshine.

As wise as sweet,
Let us be right,
More of the trumpet,
Throw on the robe.

Flare up for the reality,
They have idled enough,
Mid the middle,
A handsome bough.

Room for rain,
As Eve did pluck,
One was as human as Socrates,
Whoso is the best fears not this.

Through the door you see,
That’s hardly a job,
So much longer than the night,
By the hands of the wind.

The wren was late,

To flow back into,
The palace is built,
When none else are as ahead,
With goodness kissed.

When one knows to find,
The hot star,
Look at the glen,
At my bicycle for the win.

As Nature would be emptied,
Unyoked of late,
With nothing for her,
But eternal help.

Apart from heaven,
The quiet divine,
Beside another,
The black eternal.

The white shore,
I stare at it weave,
A nighttime spaceflight,
Ever here with me.

Back to thinking,
The only moment,
A life for a window,
Bird for bird.

I felt the kiss,
Song of collapse,
You remembered to tell them,
Who reigns beside us.

A voice of light for us,
Blindly loved as ever I was,
Highly passionate,
Some care for the truth.

So white the cold,
What daytime keeps doing,
The place rock-bottomed,
Best rest.

Those outward baby steps,
How to dream?
The tree’s things,
Of a false use.

In brown branches,
A soldier and a warrior,
I suffered a year
For my shiny guitar.

Sun on the monument,
Half a rose,
That’s a noise of my chest,
It became inevitable to the mind.

Time for Brooklyn,
Those golden lawyers,
The sky’s colors,
Jump up to find it.

In coldest disrepair,
On a hill to pull it off,
They also head for peace
By our selfsame days.

A peace at the river,
Our child is back,
What hilly trees,
A question for your compass.

If I could stare,
To welcome the dark,
Else dark or bright,
With coins from heaven.

Fill the flowers,
What the pen laid out,
The baby’s roar,
Three poets or more.

Look for the gloom,
They laugh when appalled,
Find us a box,
A big beat.

Up the heavenly leaves,
They curse with abracadabra,
To twirl the staff,
Under the cast of the the tree.

The position of their rage,
In the birth of singing,
That’s the very firepower,
To the bottom of the prophecy.

By the sea and by its trees,
You voice your return,
Are divine without anymore whining,
It’s a feat to have won.

They’ll win if we yell some more,
We change it there,
The act of this hour,
The heart of a bard.

Everything prophetic.
Thrive with leaves.
For a day not grim,
With time to sing away.

To the fabric of the sky,
The only one,
The dawn frees us,
Where night runs.

The west is dark,
To be the wonder,
Throw off the land,
I too count for peace.

Wander towards everything,
In that kingdom of the rough,
Cover your moan,
Greater than your age.

The beautiful field,
At the door’s own face,
Cast in the middle,
We do shine very much.

Days thrusting out,
By the poesy to be known,
Tis a rare destination,
The heart could break.

A voice into a lull,
No time for the truth,
A fortunate king,
Tis the general truth.

Leafy places,
Run the disaster,
Ballroom divinity,
Baby ladybugs.

The idling rock,
By those wide promises,
From the songbird’s own,
From that our peace began.

The mark of the light beyond,
In the hallway presented,
Seems peaceful enough,
Whirls back at day.

The sad salt,
My body is tricked again.
Admitted to the Ferris wheel,
As people have no feathers.

As good as a guide can be, 
Baby owl,
From out an immortal rest,
The noises beyond peace.

Pluck out your cake,
Your way with a guitar,
We make-believe it is made,
Changed by the pride.

That want for miracle,
Sitting on a leaf,
Lady of the flood,
And more than a couple of spirits.

With the freedom to hold out,
That our pleasures could settle us down,
This is very much,
Divinely done.

The worm is done,
Rocky top,
Look here then look there,
To care to remain.

On place on time,
They sing wildly,
That world escaped,
And the flood circled back.

Is the day as vast
As a Brooklyn empire?
True for a father,
Is it not very believable?

Late for the light,
To sprinkle out the language,
Rather to run by them and beyond,
We cannot hate the rain.

In that gap of moss,
The world would be a cannonball,
Sing the women,
Dawn in the woods.

One miraculous feud,
Mockingbird’s hundred,
Fills up my day,
Your proof for instruction.

Tis make-believe to imagine thus any more,
Leaf after leaf,
One deep roar,
By some remarkable trick.

Something like a dirge at dawn,
Thereabouts proved,
That people see,
All that was beside us.

To the deathly stop,
The legal voyage,
Mix it in the middle,
Remarkable for a book!

Is everything crooked?
Poesy has no age,
Some weave of thoughts,
We know what they know.

Cannot I be home?
A sod forever,
Slow to fire,
The rampart’s stride.

Drink from the whole,
Shepherd for a day,
Where sunlight ascends,
The flare loops.

We inquire about the rum,
In ebb wonder,
Horse on the water,
Under the hilltop.

Tis light again,
Lays on the flowers,
Not terrible without light,
My spare tears.

To read the abyss,
Breathe for a change,
To perceive a fire in you,
Not a wrongful life.

The whole picture to imagine,
A general change,
Wicked up,
Our day’s sunset.

A thing to be pulled apart,
Old dolly,
Your soul playing with another,
I made it into something.

Spark up the sun,
In the stillness of being light,
Find a handkerchief,
A lonely flight away.

Old bow,
The air seems grey,
The edge of the floor,
The wall’s groan.

Where complexity is savage,
Bumblebees in the leaves,
Being stuck on light,
The readers for the delight.

Feathers not to be wasted,
Compare our circles,
Shade the water,
As our best do idle.

Those roses are not dull,
The age must spend itself,
Glen sycamores,
Excellently so big.

Uncertain of it all,
Candlelight now,
Sweet is the gold,
Of the heart’s own.

Kill not these pleasures,
Licked by the distance,
Wander the stalk,
Over the boundary.

They play in flights,
A flood in the light,
Sweetest sweetness,
A piece of eternity.

By that route to go beyond us,
A patient beam,
Sings for marriage,
The veiled country.

Green as anything natural,
As golden as the day,
I spent it on peace,
A father and his baby.

The booming of rains,
Hurt by the moon,
Old dolls,
Now Angels.

In the selfsame dawn,
Garbage in the way,
It reigns for anything,
Early birdsongs.

Rush through the rough time,
When music has no part,
To trust the excellence,
A delight and wonder.

School-time answers,
Merry as this something-ness,
Air on the river,
A door for the heart.

Drum out the truth,
Milady’s tower,
Rise up for a word,
To leave out your questions.

At the fountain resting,
Valley of sand,
The end of all endings,
We branch out forever.

A stranger’s crane,
A world for me,
Going to some house
To imagine all else after this.

Nothing in the niche,
When our chariot came,
To leave after it sinks,
Work the air.

Forgot to be absent,
The horizon and the abyss,
A wall of gold,
It takes greatness.

You oppose insecurity,
We stare down our year,
Tis best to be for this thing,
The world’s glimmer.

At the bottom of loss,
This is innocent too,
One leaves the year to others,
Time for the moon.

Who has words to inspire us all?
To shroud around a body,
Naturally guilty,
To sit with a ladybug.

With dark peace,
Brothers of the air,
Lost on your way,
A picture of the sun.

Read and hope,
In final newness,
Golden goods,
Words for your eyes.

Twisty baby,
Of a night-time’s late,
Handsome as a brook,
Sleep for a time.

A ditch to hate,
Not sick of water,
Who repaired the mountain?
Facing this poem.

As hands roll together,
If pleasure could only think!
Eternity of an ocean,
I read all the words.

Even with bliss or gloom,
The wonder of being it,
The child is even more,
The sunlit bay.

Plagues the roots,
That’s painful abroad.
Ride to the end,
With a wisdom to feud with me.

And the world went on without us,
Fabric adieu!
A daughter after all,
An infant’s items.

Every mystery,
Close to forever,
In Nature’s own artistry,
In time a blast.

To sell the trees,
A thing to throw off,
This here road,
A sheep was alone.

At the playful region,
People on time,
Deep for a harbor,
Bigger than a rose.

Flame on the breeze,
Pale golden,
That false burn,
To envy Genius.

These regions are rare to me,
The guardians were lost,
The guardians were lost,
The guardians were lost.

FINIS


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