You may see a hodgepodge of wood electronics and strings
But to my eyes it's disguised as a beautiful wonderful thing,
I'm not sure what made me want to play but when I got one I found more than my voice that day,
They don't talk back they talk for me
They don't scream at me or nag, they scream my lungs out for me
Now I'm nowhere near any of the greats
But that's my brush with which I create