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You started singing silly songs: “She Loves You,” and “Misery.” I now know they sounded a song of yesterday’s memories: of innocence, and of sweet adolescence… but nobody heard your voice. You left your youth behind with anonymity, and your lyrics evolved with love, and peace, and LSD: “Strawberry Fields Forever,” to Maharishi and “Sexy Sadie.” Now people listened to your words, but nobody heard your voice. You later said “Help” was a cry for just that; you found that your Self had gotten lost in the shuffle of the countless singles: you cried out for some peace, for the world and for your mind, but nobody heard your voice. You left your band behind and struck out with your Other Half, but everyone tried to tear your love away. Regardless, they chanted along with you: all you need is love, but nobody heard your voice. You grooved alone after those swinging Sixties: your words remained just as real, although the music found some funk, a little punk and you even said “boogie.” People still listened to your records, but nobody heard your voice. And suddenly, you were forty. You and your wife were no longer the “laughingstocks of the world” and you’d finally found some of that inner peace you’d searched so long for, but, Mr. Lennon, some crazy fucker shot you dead in front of your home. The people heard your voice. |
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Jennifer Alward became a Beatles fan in 1994, when her music teacher taught her third grade class "Yellow Submarine," "Octopus's Garden," and "All Together Now." In addition to indulging in her Beatlemania and watching the clouds roll by with her boyfriend Steve, she is a student at California State University, Chico, where she is majoring in English and Creative Writing. |
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