The Lady of Shalott (1842 Version
with My Alterations)

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BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Original song by Loreena McKinnitt

Part I
On either side of the river lie 
long fields of barley, and of rye 
that clothe the wold and meet the sky 
and through the fields a road runs by 
       To many-towered Camelot; 
Up and down the people go, 
glancing where the lilies blow 
on an island where the river bows, 
       the Island of Shalott. 


Where willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
little breezes duck and shiver 
o'er ripples rippling forever 
'round the island in the river 
       staring up to Camelot. 
Her four gray walls and four gray towers 
overlook three squares of flowers 
as the silent isle imbowers 
       the Lady of Shalott.

By the margins, willow veiled, 
slide the heavy barges, trailed 
by slow horses; and unhailed 
the shallop flitteth, silken-sailed 
       skimming down toward Camelot: 
But who hath seen her wave her hand, 
or, at the casement, seen her stand, 
of she, who is known through all the land 
       as The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early 
in among the bearded barley, 
hear her song that echoes clearly 
o'er the river winding slowly 
       down, to towered Camelot: 
And, too, by the moon, the reaper weary, 
piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
listening, whisper " 'Tis the fairy - 
       the Lady of Shalott." 

Part II
There she weaves by night and day 
a magic web with colors gay - 
yet she has heard its whispers say 
a curse is on her if she strays 
       to gaze upon fair Camelot. 
She knows not what the curse may be, 
so she weaveth steadily; 
little other care hath she, 
       the Lady of Shalott. 

And, moving through her mirror, clear 
which hangs before her all the year 
mere shadows of the world appear, 
but there she sees the highway, near, 
       winding down to Camelot:
 
There the river eddies whirl, 
and there the surly village-churls 
chase the red cloaked market girls 
       who pass daily by Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels merry, 
or an abbot on a bobbing ferry;
sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
or long-hair'd page in crimson clad 
       ride close on their way to Camelot; 
And sometimes through the mirror, blue 
strong knights come riding two and two: 
She laments she hath no loyal knights so true, 
       the Lady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delights 
to see the mirror's magic sights, 
as, sometimes, through a mourning night 
a funeral, with plumes and of lights 
       and music trail off to Camelot: 
Then, when the moon was overhead, 
came two young lovers, of lately blessed: 
"I am so sick of shadows!" confessed 
       the Lady of Shalott. 

Part III
Then, just a bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
a prince rode up between her barley-sheaves, 
The sun came dazzling through the leaves, 
And flamed upon his brazen greaves - 
       as if he were Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight forever kneeled 
to the lady in his shield 
who sparkled yellow across the fields 
       beside remote Shalott. 

His gem-filled bridle glittered freely 
like cool wisps of starry sea breeze, 
and hung like shimmering galaxies
his bridle bells rang merrily 
       as he rode the road from Camelot: 
And from his blazoned baldric slung 
a mighty silver bugle hung;
and as he rode, his armor rung 
       throughout remote Shalott. 

And in the blue unclouded weather 
thick-jeweled shone his saddle leather; 
his helmet and his helmet-feather 
burned like one bright flame together 
       as he paused from his ride from Camelot. 
As if… through a purple'd silver night 
adorned with starry clusters, bright,
like a meteor, trailing light 
       he cast a glow of pale light
over still Shalott... 

(sorry - I've reached Soundcloud's description limit of 4000 characters here)

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Lyrics: In a Toilet Factory

In a toilet paper factory,
a place that I once use to be
somewhere, doing something.

Outside, people, shiftless souls,
youth in counter-culture roles
nowhere, doing nothing.

I saw them on my break,
wishing they would wake up
and be productive, productive,
but they cling to notions and ideals
with impossible schemes.

In a toilet paper factory,
a place that I once used to be
somewhere, doing something.

Everything was automated,
I was the only person there in
increased productivity.

Everything would break,
and I would be right there to fix it.
All the government dependents outside
chided me for being a fool and working,
and working!
Yet they all used
my toilet paper.

In a toilet paper factory,
a place where I once use to be
somewhere, doing something...

(repeat and fade)

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PLAY IT LOUD!
In 2025 I am continuing my theme and variations improvisations on the piano.

Shanghai Noodle Factory - Traffic (1969) - Toilet Paper Factory Version - Sing 02 - Numi Who?

Mr. Numi Who-

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