Nov 2017
Slender fingers the played with soul
Black black black
White White
Tender lips bare a voice bathing my heart
staining it with it's sound
Singing a song that beats the rhythm of my heart
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
With every strum possessed by your sound
my fingers bleed, a pain registers in the heart.
Do you hear that?
Do you heart that? Our music. Our harmony. Our souls.
My sound, my soul, my spirit they're yours.
Why is our music so silent?
you're not mine.
Black black black
White White
Tender lips bare a voice bathing my heart
staining it with it's sound
Singing a song that beats the rhythm of my heart
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
With every strum possessed by your sound
my fingers bleed, a pain registers in the heart.
Do you hear that?
Do you heart that? Our music. Our harmony. Our souls.
My sound, my soul, my spirit they're yours.
Why is our music so silent?
you're not mine.
I was watching a documentary earlier this week. It was about a deceased singer. One of the interviews in the documentary was her guitarist/ band leader. As he was talking about her I thought that he sounded like he had an unrequited love. The singer has long passed and had a very eventful and not-so-happy life. I felt that there was a real pain that he had to watch her like this and to still love her to this extent. I don't know if she ever knew but here's my take on his feelings. Try to figure out who this is about! The title gives you hint!
