"Penny Lane is sometimes... um, well... No, no, that won't work...."
It was late at night, and most of the boys in the yet-to-be-named band were sleeping. Paul had quietly gotten up and moved into the little hallway where he hopefully wouldn't disturb anyone, and was softly humming words to himself over quiet baixo notes. The success of Winston's song today had inspired him. He wanted to be just like that - effortlessly composição literária songs about something he knew well, without putting much meaning into the lyrics. He had decided to start with a song about a special place, like Winston had. Paul could...
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