The notes fall like pins to the floor, pointed and sharp
They’re falling, falling onto the black hardwood floor.

The audience sweeps up these fallen pieces
and strings them back together in their heads.
They take these notes, and breathe them in.
They breathe the life out of these notes
and discard the rest.

They are frantic, they call out for more.
They beg with their hands wide open, ready to catch these fallen notes.
This is the only time they can truly be alive,
when they **** the dreams and imagination from these notes.

The orchestra, they are generous.
Like a machine, they crank out more and more music.
More notes fall to the ground.
More notes inhaled by the desperate people.
More notes supply oxygen to the deprived.

The orchestra doesn’t mind.
For this is the only time they can live as well,
when they can blow out these notes,
watch them fly away,
and soar away with them.