Dear Prudence,

Good morning, good morning! Good day sunshine, here comes the sun and I feel fine. I am the walrus and this is my pet Rocky raccoon. I was back in the USSR, about the time of revolution #9, where this boy spent many a hard day’s night on a yellow submarine, under Sgt. Pepper, until I got my ticket to ride.

There is a place where I live near Abbey Road and Penny Lane (the one after 909), where I’m a paperback writer for mean old Mr. Mustard. It sounds like junk but it is a beginning. I was in my octopus’s garden fixing a hole with Maxwell’s silver hammer, because I’m a day tripper, and if I fell, I’m down.

The night before yesterday was my birthday, and lovely Rita, she came in through the bathroom window but I saw her standing there. Ain’t she sweet, and I love her. We can have a taste of honey savoy truffle wild honey pie when I’m sixty-four, and I’m happy just to dance with you to rock and roll music, and I’d dig a pony; but on this birthday, money, that’s what I want. You never give me your money, so I can’t buy me love. Instead, dizzy miss Lizzie gives me a matchbox. Inside was an old brown shoe with a rubber soul. “For you blue from me to you, come and get it”, she said. I said, “Thank you girl. I thought it was for no one”. Oh darling, you can’t do that so honey don’t. I don’t want to spoil the party but hello goodbye. She said, “I want you, I need you”, and other words of love. “Love love me do and please please me”, she said. She said, “We can work it out so slow down what you are doing. Don’t pass me by”. But I should have known better. She said, “Hey Bulldog, you’re gonna lose that girl. She loves you. It would help if you would hold me tight. You really got a hold on me. I’ll get you got to get you into my life”. It’s only love and I guess I’m a loser. Girl, you know my name, look up the number. When I call your name, you’ve got to hide your love away. I’ll get by within you without you. If I needed someone to step inside love, you know what to do.

I’ll follow the sun, because I am the sun king. All I’ve got to do is drive my car down the long and winding road to Kansas City where a blackbird took me to a lady Madonna concert. It was her magical mystery tour with the Bad Boys, being for the benefit of Mr. Kite. That was nowhere, man! After I gave Eleanor Rigby all my loving, so roll over Beethoven! Boys, she’s a woman with a devil in her. I’ve got a feeling the two of us will find real love.

I think I will have to walk through the strawberry fields forever in the rain when…wait, I’ve just seen a face. It is the fool on the hill in the middle of the Norwegian wood. “Hey Jude, do you want to know a secret?” I said, “Oh, baby it’s you. Hello little girl. Think for yourself, Michelle. You like me too much. Too bad I don’t love you too”. She said, “I want to tell you Ob-la-di Ob-la-da is the word, yes it is! Tell me what you see”. “I’m looking through you”, I said. “You won’t see me because baby’s in black. Ask me why”. “Tell me why!” I demanded. No reply. I said, “Don’t bother me little child, I was getting better ‘till there was you”. That was something, the things we said today. It seems like everybody’s trying to be my baby, especially Her Majesty.

I’m so tired. I’ll get you a teddy boy. Soon I’m only sleeping golden slumbers like dreamers do. Goodnight! I dreamt what goes on in a glass onion. We played games and the last of the piggies would cry baby cry.

Now I want to get back, but I’ve come too far across the universe for that. I’ve looked here, there and everywhere for Lucy in the sky with diamonds, but she’s leaving home. I’ll cry instead, while my guitar gently weeps. It won’t be long, with a little help from my friends.

So, if you see that blackbird for not a second time, let it be free as a bird. Pay the taxman and carry that weight. When a day in the life of every little thing seems helter-skelter, don’t twist and shout or run for your life; remember all things must pass, that they will come together in the end in spite of all the danger, so bear the chains of misery. In my life, happiness is a warm gun. All you need is love. Baby, you’re a rich man and your bird can sing. Julia, I wanna hold your hand because I want to be your man. I’ll be back so don’t let me down.

P.S., I love you.

This is a greatly expanded version that I put together based on a concept by Whimsical Will.