I raise my horn the the stand, and scream at the people that sit and stare. I hold back my breaths, and I try not to care About the wind that fingers and tugs at my hair.
The crowds cheer and cry, and I hold my bell high, as I step back one, two, three-four-five We're running out of time.
I end the note, and bring the bell down, My feet steady and balanced on the ground, And suddenly, the field is void of sound.
People are quiet, for a moment, before they all begin to stand And they all cheer for our large, amazing band I halt my row with a wave of my hand.
We gather up, straight faced, and proud I glance forward, to look for my folk amongst the crowd But all I see is an ocean of strangersΒ Β to enshroud
I'm thinking back to my first marching Band competition. My parents refused to show. How loyal?