Each time I have a bad memory
I strum my Guitar
The sound flows down the heart
And makes a delivery to the brains
The days when my brains
Are at Calvary
With a cross of torture
A judgement from human.

A compilation of illusions
Packed by music, negative
Energy lost for moments
With a refreshment of tunes
The further is more of a purchase
Of new times as drawning in joy
The possibility of all the
sorrows swept by beats.

The Doctor of my soul;
A patient so often for
Troubles never seize
The medicine unseen through
The Ballads of the golden era
The strum of the present
you're the healer of emotions
And keeper of peace.