A time in my life, a record of myself.
An accurate sketch of perfect health.
A roof on my head, shoes on my feet.
Plenty of room, plenty to eat.
Been very far, made lots of friends.
And I love my mother, hope to see her again.
I'm a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me.
I laugh often so, I suppose, I'm going to be fine.
And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing"
And that's all we do,
we write and play and write and play and write and...

"Here, here and here."
He pointed to his heart and mind and ears.
He said, " Here, here and here."
He pointed to his heart and mind and ears.
And Mozart he said, "There's nothing to composing."