My Own Concerto

Life is a symphony, we are all instruments,
And time is the conductor of the orchestra.
We live inside our own concerto
With its strums, and its beats, and its drums,
Its crescendo
You can feel the vibrations in the earth under your feet
And it feels like the street is going
To collapse and sometimes you just want to say,
But the rhythm and the rhyme don’t think
And don’t listen. They watch the conductor.
And time doesn’t stop for anyone.
So they keep going on
In sync in your mind.

But this is your solo and you’re falling behind
And you can’t seem to catch up to tempo.

And you want to shout, to explode –
But instead you give in, you erode
And the pieces of your washed away flesh melt into chords
that weave their way and find some kind
Of recognition with this music called the present.

As you're carried away,
Yesterday is just a memory
You hold on to for
It's your only chance and your last resort.

And these sounds
Can get you down,
But keep your head high
And your ears perked
Because there’s always something new, something fresh,
Something twerked
Just a bit from moment to moment,
From day to day,
From sonata to sonata,
So it’s never quite the same.
There’s melody
and harmony
and dissonance
and cacophony,
But cling to this sweet, sweet music
As long as you can
Because the worst sound is


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