I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.

O thin men of Haddam, Why do you imagine golden birds? Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you?

It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.

I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal to…

If you're listening to this song You may think the chords are going wrong But they're not We just wrote it like that

Any attempt to codify musical reality into a kind of imitation grammar (I refer mainly to the efforts associated with the Twelve-Tone System) is a brand of fet…