Poetry is perfected in pain, Music through the madness of life. So let your worries fall like rain With a melody like a knife. Take your sorrows and your fears Play them out like a song Drown them with your tears; Until the whole world sings along.
For poetry is unlike the sorrow; Music, much unlike the pain. Each describe the madness of the morrow Where melodies and tired eyes are sleepily lain And eloquent dreams of memories borrow The magical, maddening rhythm of the rain.