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I was at Irene's with a friend catching the Sunday Night Revue. We didn't talk much, which is fine, not much is needed to be said between friends.
After a few Guinness, I excused myself to the washroom and read the same words above the urinal I had read for months:
Tell them
You love them
And mean it
Tell them
You mean it
And love them
Tell it mean
Love and
Them you them.
I suspect it was penned by three authors at different points in time. Some sort of joke. I awoke the next morning thinking of the words and humming a tune.
It was winter break between semesters and I had keys to a church with a Steinway. I was to be the church's watchman for the next week or so, patrolling the lot and checking for leaky faucets. I would go to take out the recycling on Christmas day but there was none. In the dark winter, with light from the south aisle of the sanctuary, I hammered away at the piano and wrote this song.
Braeden Kloke
Ottawa, ON
January 2, 2025