I have a guitar,                                      
There’s a missing string.                      
It snapped in                                          
my fingers,     And in the silence  

I looked up
hearing someone sing,

She had a pretty face
but did not notice me.

I shaped her voice into
my fingers
to be felt by their ring.

Her sound missed the notes
that came from her pretty face,

together we could leave
or play off our missing chords,

and for the silence
she had a pretty face.

I strummed into her
I swear I tried,
to play her into life,
I was a chord shy