Her heart is a broken record
Constantly being scratched by knives and scissors
Lost in their quest to find a spot still intact
When put in the old phonograph
It plays a soft melody filled with piano notes
That sound like rain on a gray day
The strings of the violin echoes in the background
Along with the lower tones of the cellos
The solitary saxophone cries;
The flutes and clarinets follow its lead,
Desperately letting out their high notes of agony
Drums emerge blasting anger
Encouraging the rest of the instruments to go along
And when it is about to hit its ******
Another scratch – a deep crooked scratch.
It takes a while before the song starts over.
It’s hard to imagine
This was once a beautiful, shiny vinyl
That stood up in the wooden shelf
Now it is filled with dust
Making company – only – to the Merlot sitting by the desk
And to the ears that can hear nothing
But the harmony of the broken hearted.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Her heart is a broken record
Constantly being scratched by knives and scissors
Lost in their quest to find a spot still intact
When put in the old phonograph
It plays a soft melody filled with piano notes
That sound like rain on a gray day
The strings of the violin echoes in the background
Along with the lower tones of the cellos
The solitary saxophone cries;
The flutes and clarinets follow its lead,
Desperately letting out their high notes of agony
Drums emerge blasting anger
Encouraging the rest of the instruments to go along
And when it is about to hit its ******
Another scratch – a deep crooked scratch.
It takes a while before the song starts over.
It’s hard to imagine
This was once a beautiful, shiny vinyl
That stood up in the wooden shelf
Now it is filled with dust
Making company – only – to the Merlot sitting by the desk
And to the ears that can hear nothing
But the harmony of the broken hearted.