Shriek of humanity
The cries of innocence
Ahh yes, this song
You don’t hear it?
Tell me, what does she sound like?
The Symphony of string and percussion
The pounding of her heart like tip tap of water
Nearly empty
Thinning strings as she wails with the violin
Angry, Yearning for an audience
Harmonizing the dissonance she is struck with
It’s almost beautiful
Chaos that is in tune with the hearts of men
A song for you
A mimic of you
Muffled by the mirrors we build
Allowing only the slightest murmurs
A mere echo of their subverted lives
We can’t face the music
Fearing that we’d see our blemishes
Our faces crept away for centuries
A false lifestyle
In a carnival of plastic mirrors

Everyday the world is asking
New questions keep arising
Many still left unanswered
One day in your life, she’ll run out of breath
The silence will choke you
You’re loosing something
You’re not yourself
No longer spoon fed by her patience
But you’re still filthy rich
Yet something’s still missing
Maybe then you’ll be curious
What could be playing in that song?

How can we find out?