Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday, dear Faustus.
Happy Birthday to me.
Though perhaps, given my senescence, a more appropriate birthday song would be the one they used to sing whenever it was anybody’s birthday in the music library where I used to work:
It’s your birthday.
It’s your birthday.
Gloom and misery fill the air.
People dying everywhere.
It’s your birthday.
It’s your birthday.
People keep telling me the 30s are much better than the 20s.
Let’s hope this is borne out by experience.
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