The Perfect Song The mermaids laughing as they slip beneath the waves, speckled trout swarming in the depths of the lake, these are the images coming on strong: am I just raving, or could it be the perfect song? I had a dream once, where the perfect song I played but when I awoke, only the images remained: the smell of the valley when it’s cleansed by the dew, the touch of your hand when I’m standing close to you, the taste of your passion when finally we kiss, surely the perfect song must be made of this. Now the songs done; I put the notes where they belong. Suddenly I hear a voice saying, “No, you’ve got it wrong!” I don’t know, baby; maybe this is somebody else’s tune. Anyone can see I'm just howling at the moon. It’s not a crime, you’ll never go to jail but when you try to write the perfect song, you fail.