Flurries of call and response , electric guitar notes
travel over these Oak floors , escaping through an open window
bound for a star , my grandson could quite possibly receive
the songs coda from an extraterrestrial musician yet unknown
I pray for alien language to be music , I've so much to tell ,
, so much hurt to describe , so much passion and understanding
stored in my souls living well
If we could communicate love through a fretboard vocabulary
I would wail