I torture sounds from the ivory, begging
pleading for truth in sound,
it is the only truth I have ever known,
My fingers have become fatigued
willow branches in a storm
of thought
and sound
The piano will always know something
I don't

To be a musician is to be a creature of conceit
To believe that what one creates is worth hearing
And that the words and names given to creations mean
anything
at
all
to
anyone
at
all
besides yourself
and a true musician
will
not
care

Don't ask me to stay
Ask to come along
I am too in love with the world to let it go
But I love you enough to share it
and my suitcases
and the food on my plate
and my room for the night
Why don't you ask to come along?

A Super Nova in my chest, a love for life that will **** me in the end just to set itself free from flesh
Aren't you lovely when you smile, it breaks invisible bones that will ache for days
The keys of a piano have become my fingers
I wish I didn't fancy myself such a tragic figure.

I do not live for you
to please and entertain you
I do not live to harm you either
but do not confuse compassion for
compliance.

A bruised sky turning black and revealing stars
like a burlesque dancer would her garter
Is above me.
The wind whispers, oh how I love it
the sweet sorrow of knowing that this feeling will not last
even an hour
the darkness and
the cold will drive me in
but I know this will come again
and you
are
invited.

I hate to write a song
but I love to have written one
and have my fingers ache with the wonderful fear
that it might be good