Chords were thrown off the piano almost like they didn't countTo count and multiply were their nature
Trumpet sounding of tin threaded the dying peach flowers of love
Armor of bronze mist was now the sarcophagus of my heart
Life without love is the absence of music
Rhythms need to float on the winds of my mind
I need to swim to the surface of the strings of my heart
I need to taste the cacophony of love music
I need just a small rift woven into my existence
Perhaps I could live a little longer if I could hear your moan
But who am I kidding
I really do need the whole symphony
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