Post by onemoremile on Dec 10, 2005 14:10:49 GMT -8
Ghost of a Tune
My son used to play the piano,
Strange, the little things that hurt.
Each note of music, a throb deep down
At the recollection of his feeble strikes,
Feeble strikes more harmonious than Bach,
Simply because he's my son.
But the piano was hacked down this winter,
Crumbled to ashes amongst bloodshot flames.
Firewood to keep the body warm,
Over music which heats the soul...
But the little keys,
I couldn't let them burn,
So I salvaged two from the enveloping flames.
One black
One white
Black for me
White for him.
One extreme direct to the other,
An eternal link between two realities
To mark the eternal love...
For when black stumbles and wanes it will come to white,
And white will always fade into black,
That circle of support, love, faith,
Which I can clutch within my palm.
The union collapsed soon after,
And my son, he goes down the mine
With him, his little white key,
A grain of pure white in that grave of darkness
And I sit above, clasping my own rod of ebony
As black as the coal he toils in;
And I know we are never apart,
Never seperate,
Connected by the ghost of a tune
someone mentioned 'the union' the other day, and it got me thinking about coal mines and stuff... so i just decided i would write about it... it's a first draft, and i know there's lots of problems with it, especially in the second stanza, but i just can't find the right way to phrase things...
My son used to play the piano,
Strange, the little things that hurt.
Each note of music, a throb deep down
At the recollection of his feeble strikes,
Feeble strikes more harmonious than Bach,
Simply because he's my son.
But the piano was hacked down this winter,
Crumbled to ashes amongst bloodshot flames.
Firewood to keep the body warm,
Over music which heats the soul...
But the little keys,
I couldn't let them burn,
So I salvaged two from the enveloping flames.
One black
One white
Black for me
White for him.
One extreme direct to the other,
An eternal link between two realities
To mark the eternal love...
For when black stumbles and wanes it will come to white,
And white will always fade into black,
That circle of support, love, faith,
Which I can clutch within my palm.
The union collapsed soon after,
And my son, he goes down the mine
With him, his little white key,
A grain of pure white in that grave of darkness
And I sit above, clasping my own rod of ebony
As black as the coal he toils in;
And I know we are never apart,
Never seperate,
Connected by the ghost of a tune
someone mentioned 'the union' the other day, and it got me thinking about coal mines and stuff... so i just decided i would write about it... it's a first draft, and i know there's lots of problems with it, especially in the second stanza, but i just can't find the right way to phrase things...
