Admittedly Yours

With the utmost alwfully thoughtful hesitation of a brooding war tactician; Chart'n his maps, callin' in a favor at his big ol’ ivory desk with a green lamp. Got one of them paper weights next to a cigar box. Callin’ in favors all over the place, Sippin’ drams of whisky, mullin’ over the best possible battle strategies for his armies, so do I, just like him, attempt, perhaps, inna due effort – to musically conquer these radio waves, with a poignant, flowery, some kind of dainty expression of my, or more generally, the seething disposition of, dare I say it, the human condition, baby... I'm Admittedly Yours