I hear the bass,

The melody;

I feel my beating soul

It marches in time with the tempo,

It sings along with the slow.

Some days I cannot slumber,

While others I cannot wake

I hear the piano,

Her fingers flit along,

Transforming anger to beauty,

Solace to destiny,

Emotion to purity.

There is no equal,

No other,

For the soul of the artist emerging,

blemished but complete.


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