The perfect pitch that follows me around town
Through the back of the bushes with a hand of her skirt
Down the cobblestones on the squeaky bike
Over the bridge with the perfect arc
And the crystal clear water with the biggest fish around
The same one that whispered in my ear as I sipped on the morning tea
Admiring the speed at which the croissant oiled the paper it came wrapped in
That stopped the spread of a thousand tiny crumbs
Through the hair that felt good today
And the warm sun that easily was enjoying the morning as much as I
This is the breath that I inhale as I think
That pushes me forth into the pastures so free
And gallantly holds my head up high as I
Hold up my hand and shout the perfect pitch that rattles through my teeth
This is how I stretch in the morning, inviting the day to begin