Bach likened hope to god Lauding in laurels like a living legend He's dead, real dead, it's odd Oddly deadly ditties Harp on hope and mindful mitigation Irrigation sows such sounds in fields Of hearts who can't be found Fiddled at a clavichord Fixated on a face Looking at her clavicle With music Sweetness can erase Erasing dubious dealings Let them leave my face I need to forget the girl Forget my heart and race