Tempo grave, sempre sospirando
An inner nocturne
When I am writing my own opus
The ink stains carress my hand
Crossed out lines, struck down
I am my own symphony
The sad tones of E flat minor
Paint the walls of this chamber a naive black
It creases the sheet music that I play
The resonating chamber within its thorny grasp
Keep my hands from playing
As the melancholic tones
Play their song on their own
#
The piano plays
I yet
have
to
compose
The piano GLEAMS
Something
The piano SINGS
that keeps me
||: The piano LINGERS
From choking
myself
The piano SUFFERS
In an eternal
embrace
The p i a n o SCREAMS :||
The p i a n o CHOKES
The p i a n o DIES
the
p i a n o
Of needles
and thorns
D.S. Al fine, senza repetizione
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
Tempo grave, sempre sospirando
An inner nocturne
When I am writing my own opus
The ink stains carress my hand
Crossed out lines, struck down
I am my own symphony
The sad tones of E flat minor
Paint the walls of this chamber a naive black
It creases the sheet music that I play
The resonating chamber within its thorny grasp
Keep my hands from playing
As the melancholic tones
Play their song on their own
#
The piano plays
I yet
have
to
compose
The piano GLEAMS
Something
The piano SINGS
that keeps me
||: The piano LINGERS
From choking
myself
The piano SUFFERS
In an eternal
embrace
The p i a n o SCREAMS :||
The p i a n o CHOKES
The p i a n o DIES
the
p i a n o
Of needles
and thorns
D.S. Al fine, senza repetizione
