Jun 2015
I once had a guitar,
Where the frets would scratch my hand,
As I played.
The scratches reminded me,
Of my scratchy chords in the beginning.
But I kept playing,
Because I wanted to play my music,
And it kept scratching.
After awhile,
My hand built up a resistance,
And my music was heard.
Where the frets would scratch my hand,
As I played.
The scratches reminded me,
Of my scratchy chords in the beginning.
But I kept playing,
Because I wanted to play my music,
And it kept scratching.
After awhile,
My hand built up a resistance,
And my music was heard.
Follow your dreams. It feels rough at first and is hard. But if with time and effort, anything can happen.
