Curiosity must hit hard like cinderblocks and bricks Because people constantly ask me, “What’s around your neck?” And I tell them, “A drum key. Been wearing it for years now”. And they nod and ask why. I tell them “It tunes the drum’s sound.” And they store that bit of information And float away with it Like cargo on ships. ..Hard like cinderblocks, curiosity hits. ..But they don’t know, they don’t realize That this key right here means more. Something others can’t symbolize. This key leads me to the core of music and beyond. Because out-of-tune drums Are out-of-line and unacceptable. So I tune them careful with this key And get access to the pulse of gods! I create the beats and rhythms Apply rudiments and systems of success To cut out the tumors of stress in my body of LIFE To, for the moment, live only its good side. What I actually wanna tell them is that “This key is a tool to fixing up, Patching over, And stitching together my life Because where words have killed the friendships, Music gives First Aid kits With Band-Aids and fortune cookie messages. This drum key sleeps close near my heart Because the pulse reminds it of the bass drum And synchronizes them together To go along with the huuuum of my voice And strung notes of guitar strings. Like plucking clothe lines. Vocalizing like melodically telling stories to angels. Knocking drums like sending Morse code to the lost, But soon to be found, of course, whenever music’s involved. Yea, that’s what this key means to me. Meant for the drums, but means music of life. It means the year of 1st grade when Uncle Rob gave it to me. It means the first time I wore it, Laughing around mason jars and fireflies on a dirt mound in Delaware at midnight. It symbolizes the tool that saved my life That often I mistaken for a cross.” But curiosity hits hard. And people want answers quick, Wanna know everything instant now, So all I ever have time to tell them is “It’s a drum key. It tunes my drums.” And they nod and float away with that knowledge Stored somewhere like cargo on ships Yea, curiosity hits hard like cinderblocks and bricks. But I guess not hard enough for them to hear how I really feel about this. I'm done.