There’s the story of the old violin,
Badly beaten and bruised throughout the years,
Viewed as a completely destroyed has-been,
Expected as an assault on the ears.

Worth not even a penny at auction,
Until a musician played a sweet piece,
And touched everyone’s hearts by the action,
Raising its value to the Golden Fleece.

So too does the Great Jesus know your worth,
When you think yourself a poor, broken soul.
Indeed, this is the reason for His birth:
To deliver you from Satan’s bleak hole.

Look through the lens of our dear Savior’s love,
To feel closer to that heaven above.

Une silhouette
Devant la grande mosquée
Une ombre se perd

Fusée propulsée
Les petits bras
D'un bébé porté

Une mère basse
**** de l'ancienne église
Eclate de rire

Des terrasses pleines
La marque d'un violon
Redessine un visage

Une goute de vin
En plein coeur de mon esprit
Perce un gout amer  

Ma route s’en va
Vers des océans
Devenus pierre

Dans la nuit
Le cavalier trouve
La poudre colorée  

Les humains sont
Une tapisserie
Sans motifs

La route du vin
Trompé de chemin
Je vais et viens

Dans le metro
Le charbon s'entasse
Pour ses vacances

She was there.
In between the staircases.
It was under them
The grey city and the stone dome.

So she was in a sweater
With a magic violin in her cute hands.
And she was in the underground
With some workers passing angry by.

With her left hand
Dancing among the sounding strings.
And her right one
Rotating fiddle-bow with a beautiful passion.

And I stood there
Following her her hand with restless eyes.
And so she played
Smiling with her eyes  pointed at me.

Yet I'm not the one
In that moment she could see.
Yet music's not the only
Who could make me forget to breathe.

Wearing stilettos
Is like playing La Folia:
Attitude is Key

Wearing makeup is
Like playing folk songs: do what
You want, but nicely

I step onto the stage,
the bright spotlights making my eyes water,
the rows and rows and rows of seats making my mentality waver,
the judges with their eyes penetrating me like icicles.
Their emotionless faces making me doubt myself and what I'm here for.
The palms of my hands are drenched and clammy,
I almost drop my-
oh, I forgot what I'm doing.
Whycan'tImoveI'mstuckIneedtoplayohgodthejudgesarestaringat­mewhatdoIdoIcan'tbreatheI'mgoingtomessupI'mafailure
I
need
to
bre­athe.
Slowly inhale in,
S
   l
      o
          w
              l
                  y
exhale out.
I can do this.
The violin's shoulder rest takes its place,
I inhale,
I exhale,
and I begin.

At first meeting she was fascinated,
not only by him but what he did,
having the same ***** in genres.

Second time was mind opening
blue shorts with a  violin and a bow
her eyes led up not only to how he play
but how his eyes shut, bitten lips and emotions shown on his face.
Her heart kept beating fast as thou she was racing.

Late night conversations only brought her closer,
little did she know she liked him more than she should have, only to know he has a wall built in front of him,
flaunting  how good he is,
videos of him playing jamming her phone
iCloud too full to upload more media.
checking  social media just to admire even more.
she feels in love already and ready to commit,
allowing him to get the first kiss and  **** the soul out of her like an incubus in control, with a firm grip held her face with love, or so she thought.
Thinking she could break down the wall, she held on to him,
only she got hurt every time she's not with him, passing her like a stranger with cold hello and bye,
but best friends in the room.
Leaving a trail of men wanting to make her a queen but crawls to one that makes her suffer, cold text replies and short conversation as the days pass.

Happy face to cover blood tears from her heart, listening to him talk about a girl he likes, smiles not to show desperation, asking herself what she is doing wrong.
she waits still to hear him say the right words, hoping to some day break the wall