Тональность: Eb major•
Verse 1
Ab
You say that father writes
a lot of books,
but what he writes I don't
understand.
Gb
Ab
He was reading to you all the evening,
but could you really make out
what he meant?
What nice stories, mother, you can tell us.
Why can't father write like that,
I wonder?
Did he never hear from his own mother
stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
Has he forgotten them all?
Often when he gets late for his bath,
you have to go and
call him a hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes
warm for him,
Ab
but he goes off writing
and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room,
you come and call me.
What a naughty child.
If I make the slightest noise,
you say, Don't you see that father's at his work?
What is the fun of always
writing and writing?
Gb
Ab
When I take a father's pen or pencil
and write upon his book just as he does
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I
Why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
You never say a word when father
writes
When my father wishes
Heaps of paper, mother,
you don't seem to mind at all
But if I take only one
sheet to make a boat with,
you say, child, how troublesome you are. What do
you think of father spoiling sheets and sheets of paper
with black marks all over on both sides?
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ТюнерE A D G B E
АккордыAb Gb
Больше песен от Rabindranath Tagore
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