David Gilmour - Sonnet 18

Shall I comp^Fare th^Gee to a s^Fummer's d^Cay? Thou art more l^Dmovel^Fy and m^Gore temper^Cate: Rough winds do sh^Fake the darling buds of m^Cay, And summer's l^Dmease hath ^Fall too short a d^Cate:

Sometime too h^Got the eye of heaven s^Amhines, And often ^Dis his gold complexion d^Gimm'd;

And every f^Fair ^G from fair somet^Fime decl^Cines, By chance or n^Dmature'^Fs ch^Ganging course untr^Cimm'd;

But thy^G eternal summer shall not f^Amade Nor lose poss^Dession of that fair thou o^Gwest;

Nor shall death br^Fag thou wander'st in his sh^Cade, When in ^Dmeternal l^Fines to time thou gr^Cowest:

So l^Gong as men can breathe or eyes can s^Amee, So long lives th^Fis and th^Gis gives life to th^Cee