Too many bad notes are playing in this chorus,
Too many chords are out of key,
Too many crescendos waiting for us,
But I'll find the tune for you and me.

Black and ivory angels beneath my fingers,
Golden strings are strummed on the harp,
Gentle sounds of the orchestra lingers,
Let me orchestrate the love we need to start.

Fractured notes upon a composition,
Shattered bangs of the tambourine,
Music aids such a haunting disposition,
It's not pure and our love will never be clean.

I've conducted the staccato heartbeat,
Written songs that cure the soul,
As the curtain falls so heavy like concrete,
The masterpiece we made will be whole.