I listen to music, alone in my room,
Waiting for my thoughts to bloom.
It’s from the Renaissance,
And I know what you’ll assume:
This kid’s been living in a 400 year old tomb.
I love the slide of the sackbut,
The lute’s frets with wrapped gut,
It’s like that, but
My brains I rack, but
I can’t find the words.
My gut is wrapped
Anytime someone disses my music.
It pierces my heart,
I can’t begin to start,
My world falls apart,
I need a restart,
And then I say to myself,
“Yeah it’s still a fine art.”
We explore,
You explore,
I implore
You to find
Your music,
Your truth,
And not hate others
If your tastes aren’t the same.
Don’t blame,
Don’t shame,
Don’t claim
That your music is the best.
It’s just the name of the game.
