You said once you'd sew my uneven edges back together,
You tried, but the stitches popped like over worked violin strings that you still tried to play
The audience filed out as the procession of broken music danced through their conscious and out their ears.
They did not applaud.
But I did.
My hands rediscovered each other over your failure to compose
You were remiss to the horrible noises that covered the auditorium but I gave you a standing ovation.
And if my uneven edges became broken violin strings than your soul become the worn down ebony that let the strings go.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
You said once you'd sew my uneven edges back together,
You tried, but the stitches popped like over worked violin strings that you still tried to play
The audience filed out as the procession of broken music danced through their conscious and out their ears.
They did not applaud.
But I did.
My hands rediscovered each other over your failure to compose
You were remiss to the horrible noises that covered the auditorium but I gave you a standing ovation.
And if my uneven edges became broken violin strings than your soul become the worn down ebony that let the strings go.
