From The Top
From The Top
I've been telling a half-true story for ten years. Every interview, they ask how the kid with the phone and the broken mic became this, and I say "self-taught" because it sounds clean — but there was a room before the bedroom. Saturday mornings, chalk dust on the board, a choir teacher who turned my small hands until they found the chord. Her retirement assembly landed the same night as my first arena show in this city, and I chose the arena. Then I let a headline leave her name out of the credits. This song is me walking back into that music room, taking a seat in the second alto row, and asking the biggest ask of my career: can we run it from the top? The amends isn't applause — it's being taught again.
Lyrics
[Intro]
(Sha-la-la, sha-la-la)
(One more time, one more time)
[Chorus]
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
You taught my hands the harmony (sha-la-la)
Now sing it back with me (doo-wop)
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
Miss F, your name belongs here (sha-la-la)
Right where the song begins (doo-wop)
[Verse 1]
Saturday, the school room kept its time
You drew a staff through chalk dust on the board
The altos scraped their chairs across the floor
You turned my small hands till they found the chord
For ten years, every Saturday, you stayed
While I learned how one note held another
Then headlines called me self-taught, all alone
And I let them leave you out of every song
[Pre-Chorus]
Thursday, I came back to that room
You saw me take the second alto row
I set my hands where you had set them then
And let the first note tell you what I owe
[Chorus]
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
You taught my hands the harmony (sha-la-la)
Now sing it back with me (doo-wop)
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
Miss F, your name belongs here (sha-la-la)
Right where the song begins (doo-wop)
[Verse 2]
Your retirement assembly filled the hall
The same night my first arena show was here
I chose the stage; a child held up her phone
And caught your final bow for me to see
I watched it in the green room, still in cuffs
Then went onstage beneath my own name
Self-taught just means nobody got the credit
I won't let that line stand in your place
[Pre-Chorus]
So here I am, no crowd to sing for me
No speech to make the missing disappear
You gave me every part I know by heart
Miss F, can we run it from the top?
[Chorus]
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
You taught my hands the harmony (sha-la-la)
Now sing it back with me (doo-wop)
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
Miss F, your name belongs here (sha-la-la)
Right where the song begins (doo-wop)
[Bridge]
I missed the kids who filled that last assembly
Their little phones made windows in the dark
I missed your last good morning to the choir
And called my choice a night that had to be
No cheer can hand that Saturday back to you
But I can put your name where mine has been
On every page that tells where I began
I owe you more than saying I am sorry
[Final Chorus]
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
You taught my hands the harmony (sha-la-la)
Now sing it back with me (doo-wop)
From the top, from the top (sha-la-la)
One more time (crowd: one more time)
Miss F, your name belongs here (sha-la-la)
Right where the song begins (doo-wop)
[Outro]
You lift your hands; I find the chord
We take it from the top once more
Production Note
Thursday lane: Doo-Wop Pop — early-era brightness over 2026 radio polish. 102 BPM, bright C major, the I–vi–IV–V loop underneath. Street-corner stacked answer harmonies echo every chorus line (the choir room made literal), brushed snare, handclaps, tambourine, walking upright bass, muted electric guitar chimes — and a concert-choir hum pad blooming under the final chorus, like the old Saturday room singing him home. The intent: doo-wop sunshine carrying a real debt — the brightness IS the repair.
Credits
Written by Alex. AI-assisted production. NXagents.