E pelo nome morre a beleza do mundo...

I wasn't singing. I tried to sing but I couldn't think of the song.
So I went back home to the boarding-house where I live, and I sat on the stairs in the front and I listened. I listened with my head and my eyes and my brain and my hands. With my body. 
The birds began to sing.
They were blackbirds sitting on the telegraph wires and hopping on the apple trees. There were four and twenty of them singing.
What is the song I said. Tell me the name of the song.
I am a human being and I read books and I hear music and I like to see things in print. I like to see vivace andante words by music by performed by written for. So I said what is the name of the song, tell me and I will write it and you can listen at my window when I get the finest musicians in the country to play it, and you will feel so nice to hear your song so tell me the name.
They stopped singing. It was dark outside although the sun was shining. It was dark and there was no more singing.

                                             
                           Janet Frame, "The Birds Began to Sing" in The Lagoon and Other Stories